


the stars, the moon, and other cosmic theories

by friarlucas (authorisasauthordoes)



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Roommates, Slow Burn, anyway yes hello here i am, seriously if you don't like slow burn this is gonna be a tough ride for ya, the smiley isnt coming until the second chapter onward but i PROMISE its relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-04-22 13:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14309949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorisasauthordoes/pseuds/friarlucas
Summary: Farkle Minkus is a pretentious New York intellectual and certified genius, blessed with more money than friends. Lucas Friar is a quiet kid from the farmlands of central California, desperate to be something more than what it feels like the universe has laid down for him. When the two of them become roommates at Quincy University, whether by randomness or some kind of fate, it seems like a terrible, terrible mistake.But Farkle has always loved learning, and Lucas doesn't believe in coincidence. And regardless of what happens as they battle to get through the school year, it's clear that they have a lot to learn from each other.





	1. prologue

When Farkle Minkus gets his acceptance letter to Quincy University, it’s as if the entire city of Manhattan is in chaos.

Maybe it’s because for as long as Farkle has known the world, it’s always been New York City. He’s never known anything other than the bustling streets, the constant motion and drive and hubbub. He’s grown up surrounded by the city that never sleeps, and there’s rarely a day where chaos isn’t a factor. Not a day goes by where someone in the city isn’t celebrating something.

More likely, however, it’s the tenacity with which his mother celebrates his college acceptances that makes it feel as though the entire city of New York must be in on the festivities. Each time he receives a new acceptance letter she tacks it up on the penthouse refrigerator, giving him a tight hug and another kiss on the top of his head for his “brilliant, brilliant mind.”

Harvard. Princeton. Yale. Stanford. The letters filter in one by one and clutter the stainless steel of the only fridge door out of the seven they have scattered throughout the building he actually uses, making it feel as though he’s peering into some strange, paper-scaled monster every time he wants to grab a yogurt.

Then, finally, Quincy.

His mother has the chef arrange his favorite meal that evening, as she did for the other acceptances before it. The two of them sit down together for dinner, waiting to see if Stuart will make it home in time to join the merriment. Halfway through the soup, it’s evident work once again takes priority.

Farkle doesn’t feel much either way—it’s not as though he’s surprised.

Even still, his father makes a special trip to his room that night when he eventually arrives home well after midnight. He pokes his head in to see if he’s still up, that pleased smile lighting up his face when he finds his son wide awake and waiting for his praise.

Stuart offers him the same congratulations he gave him for all the other letters—a little less enthusiastic than Princeton, Farkle notices, but it’s never been a secret that was his top choice for him—and a squeeze on the shoulder.

It means more than the specialty dinners and suffocating hugs and letters collecting like gnats on the fridge. Considering how hard he works for his father’s approval, the small gesture of pride speaks volumes. To Farkle, it speaks louder than any New York hustle and bustle.

His friends offer more traditional support. Ethan eagerly questions whether or not he thinks he’s going to accept the admission offer and go all the way across the country to California, torn between genuine happiness for his good friend and worry over how far away he’s going to go. Noah ignores all the uncertainty, giving Farkle a hearty pat on the shoulder and marveling at how wild it’s going to be when he becomes a California boy.

Although he can hardly picture himself as a true California boy—he’s far too attached to his pretentious New York intellectual roots—he has the feeling Noah is onto something. Of all the acceptance letters he’s received so far, something about Quincy occupies his attention and won’t let it go.

Perhaps it’s because while he’s always wanted his parents to be proud of him, there’s a small part of him that wants to break the mold. Aside from his occasionally sharp attitude and penchant for weed—an indulgence he would never willingly inform his parents of regardless—he’s never exactly gone against their expectations, and there’s some unsung teenage desire itching at him to do the unexpected.

His father wants Princeton, and his mother wants what his father wants. So, his brain determines, Quincy University it is.

Perhaps it’s because it is so far away, California feeling like an ambitious jump from the metaphorical nest. An entire continent between the person he grew up as, the person he used to be, and the person he knows he can become. Farkle always dreamed that his transition to college would be meaningful, that university would be when he really flourished, and what better way to spread your wings than to fly far, far away?

As valid as all his theories are, he knows none of them are quite right. His attraction to Quincy is inexplicable, an instinct rooted deep in his stomach and pushing him westward. He’s never been one to believe in fate or a higher power, but whatever it is that is pulling him on the road less traveled by seems in some way cosmic. When he lies in bed at night and stares at the constellations twinkling along his ceiling, they seem as though they’re whispering it back to him.

He doesn’t trust the great beyond, but he trusts the stars. They operate by one law, gravity, and he suspects it’s a unique kind of gravity that’s guiding him where he’s supposed to go.

All other opinions and his father’s mild disappoint aside, when he submits his acceptance to Quincy University it feels like a step in the right direction. Like all great scientists, the only way he’s going to understand whether or not his hypothesis of belonging is correct is if he experiments and finds out for himself. Whatever comes next, he decides, is a forgone conclusion waiting to be discovered.

Farkle believes he’s a pretty excellent scientist, and this experiment is the one he’s been waiting his entire life to conduct. This one, he theorizes, is going to be the greatest discovery he ever makes.

* * *

When Lucas Friar gets his acceptance letter to Quincy University, it’s quiet.

There’s no grand fanfare, no rush of anticipation to open it and find out the fate of his entire future. The letter is deposited in their mailbox down the dusty driveway, brought in by their father with the rest before he leaves for work. It waits unassumingly on the kitchen counter until well into the afternoon when Lucas is finished with his chores down the hill at the stables.

Even then, it remains unopened. Lucas takes the envelope, too nervous to open it, and stuffs it into his jeans as he heads out the door to make his shift at the diner. Whether or not he gets into Quincy, he needs money, and he can’t allow himself to be thrown off by news he doesn’t want to hear.

It burns a hole in his back pocket as he busses tables, stinging harsher with the silent uncertainty than an outright rejection.

He allows Dylan to distract him by dodging the dirty napkins he tosses at him when the boss isn’t looking, and Asher helps by enlisting his help on the crossword puzzle of the week. The two of them are quiet as they ruminate over the word clues during their break, cramped onto overturned buckets for seating. Lucas twirls a straw wrapper between his fingers. Asher blows a bubble before snapping his gum, continuing to chew it thoughtfully as he brainstorms a six letter word for “ _pretentious, usually_.”

They don’t talk, but it doesn’t matter. The company is comforting, and Lucas has never particularly needed noise to feel at ease. He likes the quiet most of the time, and when he’s with his friends their presence is enough to drown out the kind he doesn’t enjoy.

The method remains effective as the three of them meet with Vanessa after closing up, heading down to the bowling alley to catch up with Zay and score a free game before his shift ends.

He puts all his mental energy into getting as many strikes as he can, attempting to keep up with Vanessa who has always been his only real competition at the game. Dylan is a gutter ball magnet and Asher usually makes a point of sending it down the lane in the most ridiculous fashion possible each frame. Despite being the actual employee Zay is by far the worst, complaining every turn that the ball is too heavy and the place smells like peanuts and cigarette smoke and they’d feel differently about sticking their fingers into the holes of some of these rollers if they’d seen the other people using them throughout the day.

Per their usual routine, after saying goodbye to the group Lucas drives Zay to the nearest gas station where he runs in to pick up the disgusting beverage of the week. This time around, it’s some variant of an energy drink that is a revolting shade of purple. Having retrieved the goods, they drive out to the pastures and park in the middle of the grass not fenced off for the cows.

Stretched out in the bed of the pickup truck, Lucas and Zay stare up at the stars and ramble on about whatever the topic of the night seems to be. They pass the beverage of choice back and forth between them, taking reluctant sips and shuddering with each one but reliably finishing the drink anyway. It’s been their routine since Lucas could drive, and there’s no greater comfort to him when he feels like everything he knows could fall apart in an instant based on what the paper crushed in his back pocket has decided about his worth as a human being.

He keeps the existence of the letter a secret for now, but he does venture the topic of waiting for acceptances to see what his best friend thinks. Classic enough, Zay erupts into a rant about the idiocy of the college admission process and how puffed up the administrations have to be to feel like they have the right to decide a teenager’s future based on a poorly constructed application.

Half of the stuff he claims is either incorrect or doesn’t make sense, but his delivery is always riveting and hilarious and never fails to make Lucas crack up. For all the people he’s known in his life, no one has ever made him laugh as hard as Zay Babineaux. Regardless of where they end up, he doesn’t know what it’s going to be like not having him right by his side. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever find anyone else who he clicks with as easily as him.

After concluding his rant against the establishment, Zay softens a bit and promises Lucas that no matter what happens, things are going to work out. Both of them are catches, he claims, and the universe has to be looking out for them somehow. They’re going to get everything they deserve, which in his humble opinion is just about everything.

. Quincy or not, Zay assures him, he’s going to get everything he wants in life. Despite the nerves in his stomach and the anxiety tingling in his shoulder blades, Lucas chooses to believe him.

The letter is pushed from his mind until after he drops Zay off, when the silence of the drive home forces him back to it again. Despite the peaceful sound of the crickets along the road and the wind rushing through the half-rolled windows, it’s deafening with the weight of his future in his back pocket.

When he pulls back into the driveway and kills the engine, he doesn’t return to the house. He passes it by and heads down the hill towards the stables, his golden retriever Sheila perking up and leaping off the back porch after him.

It isn’t until he’s situated comfortably in Sophia’s box stall, crouched in front of the hay stack with Sheila loyally by his feet, that he allows himself to open it. The paper is worn in his hands from the folding. He gives himself a papercut attempting to open it, considering how much his hands are shaking.

_Dear Lucas James Friar,_ printed in neat type face below the Quincy crest and return address. It’s strange enough to read his own name, almost as if the letter couldn’t possibly belong to him regardless of what it says next. Like he never deserved the chance in the first place.

_Congratulations!_

Lucas exhales after what feels like months of holding his breath, breaking into a smile in spite of himself. For a moment he can’t even bring himself to keep reading, pressing his palms to his eyes and grinning so hard it hurts. Not making a sound of exclamation, but it feels as though every single cell in his body is screaming in victory.

Once he composes himself enough to read coherently, he forces himself to read the rest of the letter. The information explaining he has been accepted on conditional scholarship, and depending upon his performance in Fall semester he may be eligible for further compensation—even a potential full ride. Describing the diverse and prestigious community of students he’ll be joining as part of the freshman class, an elite accomplishment that only hard work and natural talent could have earned. One final congratulations and a warm promise that the university is eager to hear from him soon.

Lucas knows it’s all prewritten and sent to every other student who was admitted, but he can’t but feel as though they’re speaking right to him. That they know how hard he’s worked, how badly he wants the chance to make something of himself, and they heard him. Amidst the noise of thousands of others, he stood out and they heard him.

He collapses back against the hay, exhaling a laugh. He spins the letter in his fingers, unable to keep the elated beam off his face as he stares at the wooden hayloft above him. For all the odds stacked against him, he proved he could get this far. He proved he’s something worth considering, and now he has the chance to take it even further. He has the chance to be something more than what he already is.

Accepting the admission offer isn’t even a question. Lucas knows in his heart it’s where he belongs, and whatever he learns there is going to change him for the better.

The belief grows stronger in the quiet joy of the night. He’s Lucas James Friar, the recipient of acceptance to Quincy University, and he’s going to get everything he wants in life.

Whatever is waiting for him at Quincy University, it’s going to change everything.


	2. august

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wouldn't it be nice to live together, in the kind of world where we belong?" -- The Beach Boys, _Wouldn't It Be Nice?_

When they open the door to the empty, dull dorm room that’s to be his home for the next academic year, the first thing Farkle notices is the way his mother’s nose crinkles. It’s the same expression she makes when wait staff apologizes for a delay in their food, or when his father authorizes a purchase for their family that is anything less than the best.

For what it’s worth, he feels as though he’s too familiar with that nose crinkle.

“Well,” she says with an exhale, forcing a smile and tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “It’s certainly… quaint.”

She’s not technically incorrect. Farkle is intrigued as to how they managed to fit two beds, desks, and wardrobes into the admittedly cramped space. The walls are painted crisp white concealing the brick underneath, making it look more like a psychiatric ward than the bedroom of a couple of adolescents. He’s always appreciated minimalist design, preferred it really, but this is taking it a stretch too far.

“Just needs some modifications,” he says observantly, braving the first steps into the room and dropping his suitcases by the bed on the left side of the room. It’s away from the window and closer to the door, guaranteeing a better chance of survival over his unlucky roommate if a fire consumes their room and only one of them can make it to the exit.

Once he’s broken the barrier by crossing the threshold, his mother feels comfortable enough to follow suit and recomposes her usual confident persona. It’s a trait he adopted from both his parents, the notion that regardless of what you’re feeling on the inside it’s how sure you appear on the outside that makes the sale. He doesn’t even think much about it anymore—his exterior impression feels more like autopilot than an actual decision at this point in his life.

Farkle drops his backpack on the bare mattress and opens the front pocket, delicately pulling out a small bundle of bubble wrap. Unsealing it, he pulls the small model of the solar system from the packaging and places it on the desk. He takes a couple of moments to carefully adjust it, allowing the mobile to spin slightly and send the miniature planets into sluggish orbit.

While he left his planetarium ceiling behind at home, he promised himself that this would be the first object that got settled in whatever new place he ended up. No matter where he goes, the solar system stays with him and keeps him grounded. As long as it’s there, he decides he’ll always be at home.

“Farkle, come help with this suitcase,” his mother nags, pulling him out of his thoughts. He straightens up and wanders over to help her begin unloading his haul from back home, jam-packed into four suitcases and hauled across the country with them.

“Where the hell is—?”

“Your father?” Jennifer huffs as she removes the bedding from its packaging, beginning to spread it out on the mattress. “He got a call just as we were checking in. He assured me he’d join us as soon as he could excuse himself.”

Farkle tries not to let bitterness cloud his mind. Not on the last day he’s going to see his parents for at least a few months. “Of course.”

Minutes tick by as they take inventory of what feels like all his belongings, displaced from one coast to the other. His mother begins suggesting where things should go in her normal assertive nature—that is to say, less suggestions and more commands—and Farkle cooperates obediently. He doesn’t have much of an eye for interior design, and he has more important things to stress about other than the best way for him to organize his pullovers.

“Oh, this is going to need scissors. I didn’t even think—,” Jennifer starts, swirling around to scan the room before raising her eyebrows at him. “You’ll need school supplies. Don’t let me forget to add that to the to-do list.”

“Noted.”

“Could you go explore down the hall and see if anyone else happens to have a pair? Amount of students and parents here for the same purpose, you’d think at least one person would have scissors.”

Farkle feels hesitation freeze his muscles, keeping him from doing as instructed. As far as social interaction, he was hoping to avoid that bit for as long as conceivably possible. “Couldn’t you?”

“Well, who else is going to make the bed in the mean time? Certainly not you.” The statement is a tease, nothing malicious, but he catches the slight edge of frustration in her tone. He isn’t sure whether its stemming from her assumption that he doesn’t know how to make his own bed—he does, thank you very much—or his typical discomfort with social situations.

Farkle sighs, rolling his eyes and heading towards the door.

“The eye roll is not necessary, dear.”

“Yes, it is,” Farkle argues, stepping out into the hall and leaving her behind.

Emerging from his room, he stuffs his hands in pockets and tries to remain inconspicuous as he peers into the open doors along their wing of the building. For every door that’s closed, two door decorations indicate the names of the boys that’ll be arriving with their families soon enough throughout the day. As he passes _Charlie_ and _Jeffrey_ , he wonders to himself just how many college-aged males actually exist on the face of the Earth every day.

Glancing into the room across the hall where the door is open, he spots another family settling into unpacking an entire life into the tiny living space. This one is at least complete, both a mother and a father helping a rather short, dark-haired boy arrange his clothes into folded piles. A younger sister distracts herself with a gaming device, crouched on the bare mattress. A quick look to the door informs him that this new hall mate is either _Wyatt_ or _Nick_ , and when he returns his gaze to them he’s spooked to see them looking back at him.

Making awkward eye contact, the other student offers him a friendly smile and a wave. Farkle forgets to ask about the scissors, making a beeline for the other end of the hall without so much as a nod in return.

He’s reached the elevators and is beginning to speculate how he’s going to explain to his expectant mother that he couldn’t find one living soul to offer him a cutting utensil when it’s evidently not true with the slightest bit of investigation. As he’s debating getting into the elevator and hitting all the buttons just to buy him some time a voice pipes up behind him, terrifying cheerful.

“Hey there! You looking for something?”

Farkle whips around to find another student approaching him, a tall African-American boy with round brown eyes and an easy smile on his face. The nametag gleaming on his chest helps Farkle put the pieces together rather quickly.

“Oh, you’re the RA.”

“Sure am. Name’s Andrew.” He offers him a hand, which Farkle shakes pleasantly. Knowing the guy is a required ally and not a threat, it’s easy to put on the usual Minkus confidence. “We’ll chat more tonight at the floor meeting but it’s always cool to see you guys when you first move in. You are?”

“Farkle,” he starts, catching the slight twitch in Andrew’s features as he states his undeniably unique name. It used to irk the hell out of him when he was younger to see people react to it, usually out of amusement or confusion, but repeated offenses is an effective form of desensitization. “Farkle Minkus.”

“Ah, yes. I remember your name from the roster. Something I can help you with, Farkle?”

“Actually, yes.” He follows as Andrew begins leading the way back down the hall. “My mother is looking for scissors. We haven’t been able to make a supplies run yet.”

Andrew nods, gesturing towards his room. He has more door decorations than the rest of them, all indicating his name and likely made by the other resident assistants on the building team. “I’ve got some right in here. Gotta be prepared as the job demands and all that.”

Returning back to his room at the end of the hall with his scissors, Farkle pays more attention to the names adorning the doors along the way. There’s not one name that jumps out at him, not one name that seems particularly strange or causes his features to wrinkle in amusement of confusion. Across the hall from him bears _Dave_ and _Nigel_ , hardly questionable.

Spinning to face his room again, he glances at the name tacked up next to his on the wood. _Lucas._

Just the way randomness would have it, he thinks. Lucas, the most basic, unassuming, ordinary name in the world stuck up right next to _Farkle_. As if its sole purpose is to draw more unnecessary attention to his weirdness, to highlight how odd he is in comparison to the sane, old-fashioned charm of Lucas.

Although he loves his parents, he can’t help resent how they really screwed him over. If his mother wanted him to be a social butterfly, she could’ve done him the favor of giving him a name that doesn’t produce the same nose crinkle she gets when she steps into a musty old dorm room.

Scowling, he reenters the space and hands his mother the scissors, musing to himself that whoever Lucas is, whoever is about to be stuck with him for the next eight months may as well be the most average human being in existence compared to him and all his damnable eccentricities.

Whoever Lucas is, he has no idea what he’s in for.

* * *

Lucas didn’t expect the campus to feel so huge.

In his head, he knew it had to be sizeable. Most college campuses are, and anything was going to feel massive compared the farmlands outside of Turlock. In some ways, he feels as though the first half of his childhood he spent in Texas is failing him—everything is bigger in Texas, and that should’ve prepared him for anything.

Yet, here he is, sitting in the passenger seat of his truck and staring out the window at the Quincy campus waiting for him. The school he broke his back to get admitted to is laid out before him like the holy grail, and all he has to do is step out and take it. Instead he’s slouched against the worn leather and chewing on his thumbnail, looking at it from the other side of the glass.

In the driver’s seat, Pappy Joe hums along to the Beach Boys song on the radio and taps his fingers patiently against the steering wheel. Not pushing him, but evidently thinking they’re wasting precious daylight.

Finally, he clears his throat. Lucas ignores him, Pappy Joe smirking in amusement and tossing him an intrigued glance.

“Nervous?”

“What?” Lucas says, shaking his head and crossing his arms. If he’s not careful, he’s going to chew his thumbnail down to the bud. “No, no, I’m not nervous.”

“Oh, no, course not.” Pappy Joe looks away from him and out the dashboard window, nodding along and attempting to maintain a straight face. It doesn’t last long. “That’s why we’re still piddling in the parking lot.”

Lucas narrows his eyes, sending a glare in his grandfather’s direction. When Pappy Joe doesn’t offer anything else, he sighs and unbuckles his seatbelt.

“There you go. Slow as molasses, but at least you’re moving.”

He pitches himself out of the vehicle before Pappy Joe can continue laughing at his expense, stepping into the California sunshine and slamming the truck door behind him.

Now with his feet planted firmly on the concrete, taking in the campus feels a little less intimidating. He’s a part of this place now—he fought for it, he earned it. If all these other freshman lugging their belongings up to the dorms can walk around like they own it, so can he.

Besides, it’s hard not to feel comfortable surrounded by the university. He felt it went he came to tour it, but the feeling of appreciation for the beauty of the campus is amplified ten-fold by how satisfied he feels to be there.

Regardless of what’s to come, for a moment, he basks in that feeling of unbridled gratitude. Then he joins his grandfather at the back of the truck, unlatching his belongings from the bed and grouping them together on the gravel at their feet.

“We’ll have to get the parking pass after we check-in,” Lucas reminds him. He pats his pocket for his wallet, already doing the mental math for how much it’s going to cost. “I think I have enough from summer to cover it, but—,”

“No, no, now,” Pappy Joe interrupts him, shaking his head. He pokes his shoulder as they finish unloading the truck, making him meet his eyes. “The pass is on me. All that work you did to get yourself here free of charge, I reckon covering that small fee is the least I could do for my favorite grandson.”

Lucas feels affection flood his veins. He tries hard not to smile. “I’m your only grandson.”

“And a mighty fine job you’re doing of it!” He slaps his back heartily, giving him a slight jostle before glancing over his shoulder at the campus waiting for them. “Ready?”

Lucas turns around to take in the view again, willing himself to be. Fighting for his excitement and gratitude to be stronger than his hesitation. No matter how low he feels about his own self-worth from time to time, clearly Quincy saw something in him worth investing in. The only thing standing in his own way is himself.

He feels his grandfather’s hand on his shoulder again, this gesture warmer than before. “Friar men aren’t afraid of anything,” he reminds him softly.

Lucas absorbs the sentiment, swallowing his fear and nodding. Grabbing his bags off the pavement, he marches into the unknown and leads the way towards the freshman dorms.

Upon arrival at Adams Honors Residential College, Lucas is thankful that the check-in process is quick and doesn’t give his grandfather many opportunities to embarrass him. As much as he appreciates his pappy and all he’s done for him, he’s got an impressive knack for finding exactly the most embarrassing thing to say to any given person at any given time. In most situations, Lucas simply tries to get him in and out without saying anything at all.

By the time they’re lugging his stuff all the way down the hall to the room at the very end, he considers the mission a success.

When he enters the room, he’s a bit surprised to immediately find two critical pairs of eyes staring back at him.

He blinks, shaking off the initial shock of running into a stranger and starting to put the pieces together. From the way the side of the room closest to him is already mostly decorated and from the command strips in the woman’s hands, he figures this has to be his new roommate and his family. Considering the similar sharp features and matching cool blue eyes, he assumes the blonde woman with him is his mother.

It’s hard to reconcile the guy standing in front of him with the picture of him he had concocted in his head. Having read the name _Farkle Minkus_ on his housing portal informing him of his rooming assignment, it was impossible not to try and imagine what the person bearing that strange a name would look like. His visions had ranged from ironic punk rock singer with multi-colored hair to albino Russian foreign exchange student getting a degree in hacking, but none of them match the actual student standing in front of him at all.

No, for all intents and purposes, Farkle Minkus seems pretty dang normal. He’s wearing a surprising amount of greyscale—he was expecting colorful, for some reason—and his brown hair is sticking up off his forehead like he ran a static balloon through it on purpose. He’s lanky and angular and surprisingly tall, maybe less than an inch shorter than him as they stand face-to-face. He’s so used to being the tallest in his group of friends by multiple inches, it’s strange to be looking someone directly in the eye.

Especially with such an intense gaze. He considers turning around and walking back out of the room before his roommate can make any misconceived judgments of him with that inspective glare.

Unfortunately, he speaks before he has the chance to run. “Are you Lucas?”

“Yeah. Howdy—I mean, hi,” he says stupidly, offering a hand. He doesn’t know why he felt the need to correct himself.

Farkle accepts the handshake, returning a surprisingly strong grip. His hands are bony and cold.

“Hello. I’m Farkle. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

In the midst of their exchange, Farkle’s mother has drifted around them and approached his grandfather. She offers him a tight smile and interested eyebrow raise, extending a hand as well. “You must be family of some relation. Jennifer Minkus.”

“Howdy there,” Pappy Joe says pointedly, a twinkle in his eye as he reiterates the obvious country upbringing his grandson had so deftly attempted to downplay. “You must be Farkle there’s sister, then?”

Jennifer laughs bashfully, waving him off and flipping some of her silky hair over her shoulder. “Well, aren’t you… charming.”

Lucas notices the way she hesitates before finding the right word to describe him. Looking at the two of them standing next to one another, how polished and trendy Jennifer Minkus seems in contrast to the scruffy, plain quality of his grandfather is hard to ignore.

“Looks like y’all got a real head start. Looks mighty nice.”

Farkle nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His mother continues to speak for him, glancing over her shoulder to admire their handiwork. “Our flight got in relatively early so we’ve had quite some time. I suppose you’ve just arrived? Do you live very far?”

“Oh, no, just a few hours out in the agricultural direction,” Pappy Joe explains, obviously choosing his words carefully in an effort to mirror his conversation partner’s eloquence. It’s more mocking than anything else, and Lucas chews his lip to hold back his smile. “We’ve been in the parking lot for quite a spell. Lucas here was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

Lucas’s smile is gone in a flash. He feels a blush crawl up his cheeks, widening his eyes and shaking his head slightly. Hoping his grandfather gets the message to stop talking immediately before he bursts into flames.

He shrugs at him as he feigns confusion, not allowing the tacit exchange to be subtle. Jennifer looks between them, having a more effective tacit exchange with her son. “Well, we’re heading to dinner. Flight to catch back to the east coast, you know. So we’ll leave you to it. Farkle?”

Farkle steps forward, leaving Lucas in the middle of the room alone. Right before he disappears out the door he stops suddenly, whipping around as if he forgot something.

“See you tonight?” he asks, locking eyes with Lucas. It feels more like a general wondering than a direct question to him, as if Farkle has no idea whether they’re supposed to say something to one another before parting ways until their inevitable reunion tonight.

Lucas nods, smiling politely. “Yeah, for sure.”

Farkle flicks his head in a subtle nod, not saying anything else as he strides off after his mother. Pappy Joe waits a moment before turning to lock eyes with him again, giving him a wildly tickled expression.

“Oh, what?” Lucas says grumpily, yanking the suitcases from the floor and flopping them onto the bed to unpack.

“Nothing, nothing,” he replies. His entertained smirk says otherwise. “Just think you’re in for a very, very interesting freshman year.”

* * *

Farkle wishes cell service were never invented.

Aside from the brief reprieve he gets during their dinner at the nicest restaurant in the campus center, Stuart Minkus is plagued by calls for what feels like the entire move-in day. After eating they make their way to the bookstore, where he waits outside and negotiates a major business deal while Jennifer takes their son inside to stock up on school supplies.

On the third floor surrounded by apparel, she flips through knit sweaters with the Quincy emblem emblazoned on the chest. She lifts a deep purple one off the rack, showing it off. “What do you think? Your father’s style?”

Farkle lifts his head from the quarter-zip he was examining, pretending to be interested. Pretending to believe his father would wear anything as tacky as a university sweater, even if his pride and joy son is attending it.

“Perhaps.”

Jennifer gives it a thoughtful look, ultimately crinkling her nose and placing it back on the rack.

The evening concludes with a self-guided tour around campus, Jennifer keeping pace with him and listening eagerly as he points out all of the facilities available to him. He shows them the library, and the engineering sector. His mother’s eyes sparkle with approval as he points out the state of the art research lab he has at his fingertips, one of the things he’s most excited about exploring in the coming years.

When he prods his father to pay attention, he covers the microphone of his phone and takes a couple of moments to take the structure in. When a smile spreads across his face, he gives a quick thumbs up before returning his attention to the call.

Although the smile was genuine enough, Farkle feels like knocking the building down with a  wrecking ball. All the excitement he felt towards it, so easily bought into the hype, and it’s not even worth more than five seconds from his father.

He decides to wrap up the tour pretty quickly after that. Not much else feels worth the effort.

They regroup outside his dorm, his mother obsessively listing all the objectives they had for the day. Farkle confirms each one as she lists it, but his eyes are on his father behind her, still on the phone and pacing. He watches his brow furrow and feels his own mirror the stress in response, wishing his father had a moment to breathe. Wishing that moment could be spent taking the time to give him a proper goodbye.

All out of things to nitpick, Jennifer sighs. She pushes some hair behind her ear, breaking into a slight pout and stepping forward to hug him. “My wonderful, brilliant boy.”

Farkle smiles in spite of himself, accepting the hug. He pats her back lightly, trying not to cough when she squeezes him tightly.

“I’ll be fine, mother. It’s only college. What could happen?”

She laughs at that, ruffling his hair lightly before adjusting it on his forehead. “I know you’re right. You always are. You’ll be back before we know it for Thanksgiving, and it’ll be as though you never even left. We’ll be surprised how quickly you’re back.”

Considering how busy they both are being successful and giving him the means to attend college without stress, he suspects she’s correct.

“I know, I know, but I really have to go,” Stuart says urgently, glancing in their direction before hurriedly ending the call. It’s a pleasant surprise as his father jogs towards them, coming to stand at his mother’s side and giving him a proud look. “Well, son, here we are.”

“Here we are.”

“Remember the name you’re carrying with you,” he says wisely. Farkle assumes he’s referring to their prestigious surname and not the wackadoodle first name they gave him to spite his existence. “It’s your legacy to uphold now. What you do with it is up to you.”

“I’m going to make you proud,” he promises. Holding his attention for as long as he can have it, absorbing as much of it as he can to hold him over. He has no idea when his father will get another second to spare in his direction.

Stuart’s smile widens. He steps forward to give him a light hug—not tight enough, he can’t help but think—and pats his shoulder. “That, I have no doubts about. I can’t wait to see what you accomplish.”

After one more fussy hug from his mother, Farkle waits outside the building as his parents head away from him back towards the admission center. Before they even cross the street, he watches as his father receives another phone call and gets back to work.

Back to work. With a deep breath, Farkle spins around and heads into the dorm.

* * *

Pappy Joe steps back from breaking down the last box, gathering the cardboard together and observing their work. “Well, I sure hope your gangly roommate doesn’t mind blue.”

Lucas rolls his eyes, examining his effort for himself. He steps back, taking in his side of the room and trying to convince himself that it’s good enough. He’s happy Farkle decided to take the bed by the door, leaving the window and natural light for himself.

“Guess we’ll toss these on the way out. Better get moving if I want to catch the right bus to back and get the cows fed before too late.”

Lucas nods, walking the trash to the chute before doubling back to the room. He and Pappy Joe stop outside the door, uncertain what exactly to do next.

“It’s gonna be good,” he says, more to himself than as a conversation starter. “It’s gonna be a good year.”

“Lord willing and the creek don’t rise,” Pappy Joe agrees, glancing towards his room to avoid having to make eye contact. Lucas knows his family has never been good with goodbyes, or emotion of any kind, really. He figures that’s the reason they mostly avoid each other when they can help it.

But Pappy Joe has always been the exception to that rule. Sure, they’re far from perfect, but Lucas has gone his whole life with his grandfather having his back. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do without him, and his friends, and the familiarity of home.

“Give my mama a hug for me,” he says when he can’t think of anything else.

Pappy Joe nods, crossing his arms. After a moment, he meets his eyes. “You know she wanted to be here for ya. She wanted to come. But the cost—,”

“Yeah.” It’s nothing he’s never heard before. Lucas has heard the gamut of excuses from his parents, or in his father’s case doesn’t even get that, so it’s hardly moving at this point. “Yeah, I know.”

Another beat of silence passes between them. Usually he doesn’t mind the quiet, but this time he knows it’ll never be enough.

Lucas steps forward to wrap his grandfather in a hug, relieved when he returns the embrace. He feels pain form in the back of his throat as his eyes grow warm, tears brimming. He swallows hard, trying to keep them at bay.

“You ain’t crying, are you, boy?” Pappy Joe teases. They break apart from the hug, his grandfather continuing to hold his shoulders. “You know we Friar men don’t cry.”

Lucas laughs and nods, inhaling sharply and willing the tears away. Knowing he’s stronger without them.

He’s glad his grandfather reminded him when he did. In the next moment, Farkle returns from dinner with his parents, striding with his hands in his pockets in their direction. He’s already embarrassed himself once with Pappy Joe telling the entire dorm about his pre-move-in jitters. Crying would be something he couldn’t come back from.

Farkle passes them by without a word, keeping them silent until he disappears past the door. Pappy Joe makes another subtle facial expression, eliciting a grin from Lucas.

“I’m sure I’ll hear from you soon. I’ll leave you to it,” he tells him. With one more pat on the shoulder he’s gone, traipsing down the hall and humming the Beach Boys song from the car only hours earlier.

Lucas sighs, tapping his fingers against his thighs. Then he heads back into the room, reminding himself to put his best foot forward.

Farkle is already situated at his desk, popping open a sleek, thin laptop. Lucas wanders over to his side of the room, chewing the inside of his cheek anxiously before leaning back against the edge of his bed. “So.”

It takes an admittedly long time for Farkle to realize he’s addressing him. He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow.

“So?”

Lucas already gets the feeling this is going to be a painfully awkward conversation. First introductions often are, but he seems like a tough guy to charm and that critical gaze is far more intimidating than most of the people he meets in Turlock.

“You flew here, right? Where are you from?”

To his relief, Farkle doesn’t seem to find this question objectionable. “New York. Born and raised.”

“That’s cool,” Lucas says, meaning the words but also attempting to mirror the aloofness of his roommate. He nervously wonders if everyone here in California is going to be equally unimpressed and detached about everything. He doesn’t know if he can pretend to be cool for that long. “I don’t know a ton about it, aside from like, the movies. But I’ve always wanted to go.”

“You should, it’s great. Museums aren’t as well-curated as say, Washington D.C., but the city itself is an experience all its own and the entertainment cannot be beat.”

Lucas relaxes a bit, grateful to have found something Farkle seems to have a scrap of interest in. His next tactic was going to be space considering the amount of astronomy-related materials on his walls and decorating his side of the room, and he knows absolutely nothing about it so he was bound to dig himself a pretty big hole in that scenario.

“I usually see two shows a week, maybe three if the tickets are good. There’s always shows, of course, but not all of them are worth seeing.”

Lucas blinks. “Broadway shows?”

“Well, yes.” Farkle smirks, but it’s not exactly an encouraging expression. “Broadway is located in New York.”

“I know that,” Lucas says quickly, trying not to sound defensive. “But aren’t those like, really expensive?”

Farkle shrugs indifferently. “My dad owns a company and usually helps pay for the tickets. I don’t think about it all that much.”

Considering the brand new laptop and brand-name clothes filling his wardrobe he noticed when they first stopped by, Lucas had figured that part out pretty quickly.

“That’s cool.”

“What are you majoring in?” Farkle questions, shifting the subject before Lucas can think of what to say next. Thankfully, it’s an answer he actually knows.

“Biology.” He feels proud just saying the words, smiling lightly. “Veterinary track.”

For some reason, Farkle’s surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t know how to react to the fact that Farkle seems so shocked by that fact, and has no idea how to respond accordingly so he opts to change the subject. “How about you?”

“Engineering with an emphasis and mechanical and aerospace,” he rattles off effortlessly. “I haven’t yet decided if I want to add a minor, but I’m considering physics or chemistry. I’ll have to take classes for both anyway, so I’m sure I’ll decide when the time comes.”

Just hearing that combination gives Lucas secondhand anxiety. Although he sounds like a broken record, he can’t help the words that come out of his mouth at a lack of another response.

“That’s cool.”

It doesn’t sound as convincing this time around. Clearing his throat, he turns around and starts taking inventory of the school supplies on his bed, mentally preparing for his first day. Knowing how difficult that conversation was but ultimately glad it didn’t go much worse.

“Do you want to get dinner this week?” Farkle asks suddenly, capturing his attention again. He locks eyes with him. “I just figure, you know, as roommates we should take the time to get to know one another. A dining hall feels a bit more conducive to easy conversation than the room we’ll have to be sharing regardless of whether we can properly interface or not.”

He finds a little amusement in the weird use of the word interfacing to describe communication. “Sure. What day?”

“How about Tuesday?” Farkle hesitates before elaborating. “I have a meeting with my advisor Monday.”

Lucas frowns. “I have an interest meeting Tuesday.”

“What for?”

“Baseball,” he says. At the flat expression on Farkle’s face, he feels the need to explain himself. “Not like, varsity or anything. Just a club sport. I played in high school, so.”

“You don’t say. Well, Wednesday?”

“Advisor meeting. Thursday?”

“Astronomy class,” Farkle says slowly, realizing this might be harder than he anticipated. He raises an eyebrow critically. “You going to tell me you have something unavoidable on Friday?”

Part of him wishes he did. He feels like he’s always going to be second-guessing himself with Farkle Minkus, constantly feeling as though he’s saying or doing the wrong thing. He wonders absentmindedly if he knows he has that effect, if it’s purposeful, or if his confidence level is so naturally high it just radiates off him like nuclear waste.

“Actually, I don’t,” he says, forcing another smile.

Farkle nods. “Friday it is, then.”

A knock at their open door grabs their attention. Another resident is standing in the doorway, even taller than Lucas and with a layer of baby fat still on his cheeks. He offers them a friendly smile, running a hand through his wavy hair.

“Hey, guys. I’m Dave. I live across the hall.”

Farkle offers a wave. Lucas nods. “Hi.”

Behind Dave, a shorter Asian guy hovers with his hands in his pockets. He seems just as unimpressed as Farkle, but it comes from a place of general exhaustion rather than pretention. “This is Nigel.”

“Dude, I can talk for myself.”

“Well, then do it, man. I don’t want to have to your wingman the entire year.”

 “We’re heading to the floor meeting now,” Nigel explains, leaning against the door frame. “You guys coming?”

Lucas makes eye contact with Farkle. He nods, getting to his feet. “Guess so.”

“I met our RA earlier when he came by as I was unpacking,” Dave explains cheerfully, waiting for Lucas to shut the door behind them. “He seems pretty chill. He better be, because we’re gonna get lit in 3414 and I don’t want him writing us up!”

“We are not,” Nigel says flatly.

Dave nods along and raises his hands in surrender, before shooting Lucas a wink. For what his opinion is worth, he gets the feeling Nigel isn’t going to win that battle.

Despite the banter between the two of them, Lucas can’t help but notice they seem to have a pretty easy dynamic going between them. They met less than a few hours ago just like him and Farkle, and yet they seem to have it together and starting off in the right foot. The tone between them is playful, whereas if Lucas had to name the tone he and Farkle share, it would be a tie between pathetically strained and laughably cringe-worthy.

At least, he has to think, it can only go up from here.

* * *

By the time he’s halfway through his first week, Farkle decides there’s no way he’s going to make it out of the semester alive.

Part of it is the sheer amount of human interaction it takes to get through one day of university. He doesn’t remember how he survived high school without having to do much socializing outside of his best friends, but that strategy isn’t doing so hot in college so far and he’s constantly drained even if the school day itself is arguably shorter.

Perhaps it’s because most of the people he’s interacted with thus far are undeniably dumb. Not everyone, obviously, but he’s been unpleasantly surprised by how many people in his introductory science classes are honestly way in over their heads. Science had always been the safe haven for him in New York, a subject guaranteed to offer him intellectual equals to challenge him.

So far at Quincy, it feels like the challenge is going to be getting through the semester without imploding from secondhand idiocy alone.

Still, despite it being against his nature he tries his best to remain optimistic. While the classmates are questionable the classes themselves have started off promising, and he’s already looking forward to his astronomy class the following evening. He has his lunch with Lucas on Friday, and while his simple farm boy roommate may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, he at least seems decent enough.

For what weak competition he has at this university so far, Lucas doesn’t seem like the worst he could’ve been shoved together with.

Farkle finds himself spending more time thinking about his new roommate than he originally anticipated. He doesn’t know what it is—maybe that silly country charm—but something about him is more intriguing than usual and he finds himself excited to try and figure him out. Considering how conventionally attractive he is, it feels like a rare exception that there seems to be more inside his pretty little blonde head aside from sports calls and _Florida Georgia Line_ lyrics.

Although, he does play baseball. So maybe Farkle is giving him too much credit.

At the moment, he’s just trying to find a place to eat his lunch in peace.

As a reward to himself for making it through the first half of the week, he decided to treat himself to a lunch from the campus center dining options rather than suffering through the dining hall another meal. But now that he’s there, trying to find a place to sit feels like a game of minesweeper. All the chairs clustered under small taupe umbrellas are dotted with other students, either working independently while they eat or sharing a meal together as if they’re already best friends. It’s been three days, and it seems as though the entire campus has become friends without him.

Not that he’s not used to the feeling. But it’s still a bit of a frustration.

“Slim pickings, isn’t it?”

Farkle jumps, unprepared to be addressed. He spins around to find the source of the voice, spotting her a few feet above him on the wall in front of the admission center.

She’s another blonde, but from the piercing quality of her bright blue eyes and the way her hair is chopped short in a bob, he gets the feeling there’s something worth paying attention to in this girl. She’s got one earbud in her ears and a sketchbook on her lap, but her eyes are on him. He realizes she’s looking him over the same way he is her, probably trying to reach the same conclusions he is.

“For one just attempting to enjoy their lunch, it’s quite the exhausting endeavor,” he says sharply. When he earns a smirk from her in response, he gets the feeling his assumptions about her are true and finds his interest peaked. He marches towards her, taking the stairs on the side of the building to reach her perch on the wall. “May I?”

“If you’re brave enough,” she says ominously, narrowing her eyes before her expression melts into an effortless smile. “Although you’re already downing the campus center food, so your constitution must be tough.”

“Dining hall is worse.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” She holds out a hand. “Maya Hart.”

He returns the gesture, shaking her hand cordially. “Farkle Minkus.”

“Farkle Minkus,” she repeats, sounding more impressed than the traditional puzzled. He decides he likes her even more. “Gotta have a pretty loud personality to match that namesake. Are your parents masochists?”

“CEOs and real estate tycoons, actually.”

“Same thing.”

He spends more time than he expected at the campus center that afternoon, hanging out with Maya on the wall and watching the world pass by below them. She explains that she’s a Los Angeles native and an art major, allowing him to flip through some of her sketches. She’s clearly talented, and it’s somewhat of a relief to find another artistic soul even if he’s not driven by his creative interests as much as she is.

When the time comes for her to float off to her last class of the day, she takes a moment to use a charcoal pencil from her backpack and write her number on his hand. She informs him that if he doesn’t text within the next twenty-four hours, she’s going to make him regret it.

She finishes the last number with a flourish, putting her pen away and slinging her bag over her shoulder as she hops from the wall. Farkle blinks at it, feeling surprised and a little bit warmer than before. “You could’ve just put your number in my phone.”

“Yeah, but this is more cliché and dramatic,” she says delightedly. She salutes him. “Nice having lunch with you and judging the world below, Farkle Minkus. Hope to do it again sometime soon.”

“Likewise. But I don’t think you need a partner to ridicule the masses.”

“Maybe not,” she admits. She begins to walk backwards away from him, continuing to captivate his attention with those stunning blue eyes. “But everything’s more fun with a friend.”

* * *

Considering all the nightmare scenarios he had run through over the months since he got accepted, it’s a huge weight off his shoulders when Lucas makes it through the week without a major disaster.

On the contrary, he’s had a pretty great week. His classes don’t seem as killer as he anticipated they would be, and when he puts all the important dates from his syllabi into his agenda Thursday night he feels infinitely more in control of how things pan out. It was hard work that got him here in the first place, and he knows it’ll be hard work that gets him out with a degree and the great wide world in front of him.

He’s met many friendly and interesting people throughout the week, and  he likes to think he’s got a few new friends to consider it an overall success. He hasn’t gotten to talk much to his next door neighbors yet, but he spends an afternoon with Jeff and Charlie on the great lawn between classes, and he’s had a couple of meals already with Nigel and Dave.

All of them are vastly different but enjoyable enough company, and it’s a comfort knowing they’re just as unfamiliar with the terrain as he is and looking to make new friends as well. Mostly, it’s a relief knowing there are people out there willing to socialize without making him feel like an idiot in the process.

Still, he can’t help but miss his friends back home. They’re only a few hours away, but it feels like thousands of miles, and Zay is literally thousands of miles away in Chicago for theater school. Vanessa arranges a Skype date for them all later in the weekend, but Lucas doesn’t know how he’s going to get through the school year constantly feeling like a part of him is missing.

By the time he collapses into a seat in the crowded lecture hall for his introductory biology class Friday afternoon, he’s convinced himself that for all the amazing people he’ll meet in college he’s never going to fill the hole in his heart that a best friend like Zay leaves empty. There’s no way he’ll ever meet someone who clicks with him so easily, who engages with him in a way that feels so comfortable and natural it has to be fate.

A couple seats down from him, a round-faced brunette slides into the seat and gets out her materials for class. She checks her phone, smiling to herself at a message lighting up her screen. Despite not knowing a thing about her, Lucas can’t help but admit her smile is one of the cutest things he’s ever seen.

Down below, the professor clears his throat into his microphone to cue the start of lecture. The lights dim slightly and slides light up the projector.

“Welcome to introduction to biology,” the professor greets them. Then he shakes his head, feigning sympathy. “What poor, poor souls you all must be to willingly put yourself through this class.”

The class snickers in response. Lucas smiles and glances in the direction of the girl to see if she is as well, only to find her with a panic-stricken look on her face. She’s rifling through her bag as subtly as possible, obviously looking for something she may have forgotten. Glancing at her materials, he notices the lack of a writing utensil.

Lucas reaches into his backpack, pulling out one of his extra pencils. He was beloved in high school for being the kid with extra pencils, and he supposes maybe that reputation is going to continue into college.

He leans over, lightly tapping her on the shoulder. “Need a pencil?”

The girl looks down at his offering before raising her eyes to meet his, curiosity lighting up her big brown eyes. Then in an instant she melts into a grateful smile, taking it from his fingers and sighing.

“You are my _prince_ ,” she says emphatically. At the bemused expression on his face, she laughs quietly and waves the air offhandedly as if to push the comment away. “Sorry, I don’t know what comes out of my mouth half the time. I’m Riley.”

“Nice to meet you, Riley. I’m Lucas.”

“I love it,” she says cheerfully, and although they just met Lucas is pretty sure she means the words. She gestures to the open seat next to him. “Is that taken?”

He shakes his head, mirroring her excited smile as she discretely hops the few seats to plop down next to him. Although lecture has started and he should be paying attention to the discussion of the syllabus, he’s having a lot more fun talking with her.

“Gum?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You know, they say chewing gum actually helps you retain material,” she says matter-of-factly, unwrapping the stick of gum and popping it into her mouth. “I don’t see how that makes any sense, though, because when I chew gum all I can think about is the fact that I’m chewing it and my mouth muscles are doing all this work. It’s like—,”

She stops suddenly, as if she’s realized something. She gives him a sheepish look, pushing some hair that escaped her ponytail behind her ear.

“Sorry, I’m totally rambling. I told myself when I got to college I wasn’t going to do that anymore.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her. If anything, he finds it endearing. “I don’t mind if you keep going.”

The smile that lights up her face is one of the purest ones Lucas has seen since he stepped on campus.

They spend the rest of lecture alternating between writing notes and exchanging small commentary under their breath, keeping the class engaging right up until their professor dismisses them for the day. Lucas waits for Riley to gather her things and they exit the hall together, heading down the steps into the fading sunlight.

“So, why are you taking biology?”

“Requirement for the veterinary track. One of many to come, actually.”

She gives him an impressed eyebrow raise, humming in approval. “A veterinarian, huh? You must be pretty darn smart to be pulling that off.”

“I don’t know about that.” He waits as she grabs her bike, thinking the conversation will be over pretty soon. But instead of riding off into the distance without a second glance she opts to continue walking with him instead, wheeling the violet bike along next to her. “How about you?”

“Requirement, too. Psychology major, so I’m just hoping I make it out alive.”

They continue chatting all the way to the middle of campus, and Lucas is amazed how easily the conversation comes between the two of them. Something about the dynamic between them feels magnetic, and for a fleeting second he senses that empty feeling he’s had since leaving home start to mend itself. For whatever force is out there—fate, the universe, God above or the devil down below—it feels as though maybe it is looking out for him.

He feels like he was meant to meet Riley Matthews.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

He shrugs, nothing immediately popping into his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, you do now,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “Me and my roommate are going with some people from my building to explore downtown. You are absolutely coming with.”

“Oh, I don’t know—,”

“Come on! It’s going to be so fun, I think we’re going bowling. It won’t all be girls, my roommate Jade has a friend from the Adams building. Dave, I think?”

Lucas is starting to enjoy the recognition he feels when he gets to explain he knows someone else on campus. He’s feeling less like an outsider each day and tying himself more firmly into the community, proving he belongs here just as much as anyone else. If they want to throw him out, they’ll have to cut off his roots to do it, and he’s planning on burying them pretty deep.

“Yeah, I know him. I live in Adams, he lives across the hall from me.”

“So, see!” She nudges him lightly, eliciting a grin from him. Considering he’s been smiling since he met her, it isn’t hard. “You have to come now. It’ll be fun. Promise.”

After one last moment of hesitation, something itching in the back of his mind, he raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”

“Yay!”

She whips around to face him, stopping momentarily and examining him intensely. Despite the faux critical gleam in her eyes, she’s similarly unable to wipe the smile off her face.

“You know, Lucas,” she says, joy laced through every inch of her voice. “I think you and I are going to be really good friends.”

* * *

If Farkle thought trying to find a seat amidst the sea of other students at campus center was distressing, sitting alone at the dining hall while actually expecting someone else to show up is pure humiliation.

He arrived at the dining hall at six just like they agreed upon, securing a table and waiting patiently for Lucas to show up. By the time thirty minutes had passed, he allowed himself to get some food even though none of it looked particularly appetizing. He finishes it before Lucas comes around.

By seven, he considers texting him to either remind him or tell him off, only to realize they never exchanged phone numbers. Considering how often they were guaranteed to see one another, it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

For the sake of doing something, he forces himself to do some homework. It doesn’t take him long, and when he’s sitting there at eight still alone he wonders what he’s even doing waiting around when it’s painfully obvious at that point that Lucas isn’t coming.

He glares resentfully at the other college students peacefully eating their meals, either enjoying the company of their new friends or eating in solitary without the disgusting expectation that someone is going to join them.

When his hands start shaking from nerves, he gives up. He grabs his backpack and storms out of the dining hall, ducking around behind the building and exhaling harshly.

Digging through his bag, he fumbles to remove his lighter and quickly rolls a joint on the top of the trashcan stuck out behind the emergency exit to the dining hall. Just the methodical process of prepping it helps calm him down a bit, and it isn’t until he’s able to exhale the smoke from his lungs that it feels like some of the anxiety leaves with it. He rests his head back against the wall, taking another hit and sighing.

He doesn’t know what anybody expects of him. He doesn’t know what his mother wants from him when she wishes he’d be more of a ladies man, more of a star student, more popular than he knows he could actually be. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do when even when he puts a shred of effort into building a relationship with someone—someone with whom it should be somewhat guaranteed—he still ends up sitting alone.

All he can properly think through the haze is that he was wrong about Lucas Friar. He’s exactly what he looks like, a shallow, two-faced pretty boy with a freakishly perfect face and absolutely no respect for anybody but himself. Nothing in that pretty blonde head but baseball plays, a list of equally pretty and popular girls he’d like to hook up with, and some gratingly obnoxious _Florida Georgia Line_ lyric.

Well, he’s learned his lesson, one he thought he already knew but supposes maybe he needed to learn again. People aren’t worth the energy, and with high expectations comes greater disappointment.

Still, considering he didn’t have many expectations to begin with, he’s not sure why he feels so disillusioned.

* * *

When Lucas returns back to campus just before midnight, he can’t believe how quickly a new group of friends can elevate his week from great to downright epic.

What he has learned is that Riley Matthews is a force of nature, endlessly creative and enthusiastic, and she can find endless ways to keep a fun night going long past its expiration date. While they originally anticipated getting back by eight they far exceed this expectation, spending the evening after bowling heading down to the boardwalk, getting ice cream and staring out into the infinite inky blackness of the Pacific glaring back at them.

Standing there, it’s difficult to comprehend the strange vastness and uncertainty of the world around him. A week ago, he was laying in the back of his truck bed staring at the endless stars in the sky above him and never having laid eyes on the ocean. Now, he’s waiting just out of reach of its depths, and in the darkness it seems to meld with the night sky and stretch on into infinity.

The group moves on before he can really contemplate it, but he knows if he had it his way, he could’ve sat there by the water for hours. Just absorbing the quiet, thinking about all the things in the universe he doesn’t know.

As he and Dave head back to their floor together, the latter carrying on about all the awesome things they did that evening, Lucas can’t help but think about how impressive the view was and how the stars seemed even closer to him here than ever before.

He remembers how much Farkle seemed to like space and decides to tell him all about it. He’s always liked the stars, so maybe there is something in common there for them to use to start building a bridge. If he puts his best foot forward, nothing can go wrong.

Dave waves him a goodbye before they disappear into their rooms, Lucas surprised to find Farkle still awake. On the weekdays he’s in bed before midnight, but maybe he gives himself a break on weekends. Lucas usually has trouble falling asleep, mind buzzing with all the things he has to keep track of and accomplish, so it’s a miracle if he’s asleep before the early morning.

“Hey,” he greets his roommate, heading to his side of the room.

Farkle doesn’t bother to respond, keeping his focus on his work in front of him and dimly lit by the small lamp on his desk. Lucas glances at him to see if he’s wearing headphones, only faintly more slighted when he notices he isn’t.

“Hey,” he repeats, lightly tapping his back. “You okay?”

Farkle raises his head, doing an impressive job of appearing unmoved. He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”

The tone seems a bit cold for the current status of their roommate relationship. Lucas blinks, trying to figure out what to say next without setting off an unexpected landmine he suspects may be buried somewhere in this conversation.

“Yes?”

“That’s rich,” is all he offers in response, dipping his head back down to his work.

Lucas taps his fingers nervously against his hip, sensing there’s a piece of the puzzle at play here that he’s not seeing. Although part of him wants to avoid confrontation entirely and just go to bed, hoping it’ll go away on his own, he knows the mature thing is to cover it before it has the chance to get any worse. Whatever Farkle thinks he’s done to upset him, he’s sure it’s a misunderstanding and they can work it out.

Well, maybe. Farkle is hard to read, and he doubts he operates by the normal rules of communication. But he wants to remain optimistic.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

“Oh, no, I’m not upset,” Farkle says flatly, keeping up his removed tone. “I hope you had a great Friday evening. I’m sure you had lots of important things to attend to.”

“Well, me and some people from biology class went down to the boardwalk. We also went bowling, but the boardwalk was the best part. You know the ocean seems to go on forever when it’s so dark out? Like, it’s just blackness forever—,”

“I know what the ocean looks like,” Farkle snaps, cutting him off.

There’s an awkward pause. Lucas licks his lips, not sure what he’s supposed to do next. He’s growing increasingly aware that every step he takes in this conversation is likely to have a landmine waiting to explode underneath him.

“For someone who says they’re not upset, you sure sound pretty fit to be tied.”

Farkle blinks at him, scrutinizing his accidental country slip before Lucas has the chance to cover for it. If anything, it just seems to piss him off even more. He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just a traditionalist. You’d expect the boy from the country to have more respect for the traditional idea of manners, but maybe New York has greater civility than I give it credit for.”

Now he’s completely lost. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m only saying, in my humble opinion, when you make dinner plans with someone, it’s pretty common courtesy to actually show up. But maybe you all do it differently out in farm country.”

The blissful ignorance only lasts a moment longer, then the floor seems to drop out from under him as Lucas remembers the agreement they made on their first night here. He feels his cheeks grow hot from shame, a chill running through his spine.

“Oh my God.”

Farkle rolls his eyes again, his expression shifting into a scowl. He turns away, focusing on putting his laptop away.

“Oh my God, Farkle, I’m so sorry,” Lucas stammers. He’s already running through all of the ways he could’ve prevented this misunderstanding, kicking himself for not taking more time to check his schedule or perfect his mistakes. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot.”

“It’s okay, Lucas. You don’t have to lie.”

Lucas frowns. “Huh?”

“You don’t have to fake it.” Farkle whips around, giving him a condescending smile and an aloof shrug. “You don’t have to put on the fake Southern charms and gee willikers innocence and act as though you even cared in the first place. I get it, you’ve got better things to do. The least you could do is be transparent about it.”

He’s trying really hard not to get heated. Farkle already is, and it was his fault that all of this fell apart.

And he’s never, ever been good with controlling his anger.

“I’m not doing that.”

“Why would a guy with a face like yours and such obvious popularity want to waste even a second on his lame, scrappy roommate? Trust me, I see how this plays out. You don’t have to play nice with me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” It’s harder not to get mad when Farkle is making such an effort to offend him. “What are you saying?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that too complicated for you? Let me explain it ways you’ll probably understand.” He makes a show of thinking hard about it, clasping his hands together. “You’re the star pitcher, and I’m just the water boy sitting on the bench for you to turn to if you get really socially desperate. Right? Well, save yourself the energy. I’m quitting the team.”

Lucas can’t decide what to focus his attention on—the insinuation that he’s too stupid to understand basic English unless it’s in a sports metaphor, the obviously uninformed use of said baseball metaphor, or the fact that Farkle actually believes he’s the kind of person to purposefully blow off an agreement because of his own self-image.

Regardless, he can’t help but think he’s doing a bang-up job of ruining their potential friendship on his own. He doesn’t need to contribute to it. “I play shortstop.”

“Like that makes an iota of a difference.”

He’s so pretentious. He’s so pretentious, frustratingly aloof and self-righteous. He’s been looking down on him since he walked through the door without knowing a thing about him, just because he’s a supposed genius and has more money in his pinky finger than Lucas probably has in his entire family savings.

Mostly though, he’s just a jerk. And Lucas doesn’t want anything to do with it.

He grabs his backpack and the pillow off his bed, marching towards the door. Farkle watches him go, stretching his arms out in exasperation. “What are you doing?”

“Going to the lounge,” Lucas snaps, trying to keep his voice even. He tosses another look at him, amazed at how quickly he’s gone from neutral to full-on dislike. Loathing always seemed like such a strong word, but all the sudden Lucas feels as though he understands it perfectly. “Rather sleep there than continue to be judged in the comfort of my own room.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Farkle starts.

“Oh, well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it?” Lucas challenges, referring to his preconceived notions about him. “And for the record, you don’t know me. You know nothing about me.”

Farkle clenches his jaw, turning up his nose. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t validate the accusation with a response, merely storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Still present underneath all the anger, his guilt flares up again. The knowledge that all of this could’ve been avoided, that he could’ve tried harder, that once again he’s made a terrible mistake and there’s no way for him to fix it so everything else has to fall apart instead.

What he does know, regardless of how stupid he is, is that he hates his roommate. He hates Farkle Minkus, and he has no idea how he’s going to survive the rest of year.


	3. september

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Goodness knows, the wicked's lives are lonely. Goodness knows the wicked die alone." -- No One Mourns the Wicked, _Wicked_

Regardless of what he has to endure as August drifts into September and he continues to dodge the terrible roommate situation, Lucas is determined not to let Farkle Minkus ruin his freshman year.

He’s well accustomed to making the best out of a less than ideal situation, as most of his life prior to getting into Quincy could easily fall into that category and he’s still trucking along. Aside from his grandfather and the deeply appreciated company of his friends, the rest of his existence up to this point has been training him to work with undesirable circumstances.

If Farkle Minkus thinks he’s going to break his morale, he’s definitely got another thing coming.

Although, it’s not quite as impressive when he acknowledges the fact that he’s not so much confronting his demons so much as avoiding them entirely. Rather than approaching Farkle about the misunderstanding and finding a way to move past it, he’s spent the last couple of weeks of the semester letting the issue fester and room hopping for places to stay the night. Whether it’s the study lounge after Andrew has gone to sleep and won’t reprimand him, or Dave and Nigel’s floor (to Nigel’s complete dismay), or the couch of Riley’s suite with all of her giggly roommates ogling him when he wakes up in the morning, Lucas has made a concerted effort to sleep practically any other place than his assigned dorm room with his given roommate from pretentious hell.

He knows he’s not going about it the right way. No one has to tell him that twice. On the other hand, he figures he and Riley have become much faster friends because of it. Most people don’t form a new friendship only to spend a week’s equivalent of time crashing on their couch within the same month.

The nights where he can’t manage an alternative and returns back to his room with his tail between his legs are the least enjoyable parts of the first month of college. Considering his behavior, Farkle isn’t putting forward an effort to fix anything either—not that he expected he would—so they spend the times they are in the room together suffocating in the palpable silence. Pretending the other doesn’t exist, as if either of them are easy to ignore considering how much they irritate each other.

Even though he doesn’t say a word, Lucas feels as though he can feel the smugness radiating off of Farkle whenever he has to stay the night in his own bed. Like he’s lording some common courtesy over him by letting him return to their shared space, just highlighting his belief that Lucas is an idiot and a failure and not smart enough to be in the Honors dorm in the first place.

Riley tells him he’s probably making that part up, projecting his own insecurities onto an already antagonistic situation. But she’s never actually met Farkle, so he doesn’t see where she gets the right to be so level-headed.

Disregarding the bad blood splattered on the walls of the room he’s supposed to call home and the throbbing in his back from sleeping on the floor, otherwise Lucas figures he couldn’t be acclimating better to his first year away from home. He’s enjoying his classes, taking careful notes in his more difficult classes and not allowing himself to be too distracted. He’s officially on the intramural baseball team starting mid-September. He’s made a whole new crop of friends, and even though they’ll never replace the ones he left behind, it’s starting to ache less when he thinks about them.

Plenty of other stuff going on to occupy his attention from reminiscing on them too long. And in any case, he knows he’ll see them in a couple months.

Even though he was convinced he would never find another person who fit with him as seamlessly as Zay, Riley Matthews is doing a pretty bang up job of proving herself a worthy candidate. After the first week of biology lecture they’re practically inseparable, merging their budding friend groups by the end of the second week. She’s quirky and silly and staggeringly genuine, and something between them just clicks in a way Lucas can’t put into words.

If he were to be completely honest with himself, he would have to admit he’s probably a little bit in love with her. He’s not exactly interested in dating her for whatever reason—nor is he allowing himself to even humor the notion considering how much concentration he knows his studies require—but he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a tiny part of him that fluttered when she smiled at him or leaned over to whisper a joke in his ear during lecture.

Perhaps he’s simply not used to having many people in his life who seem to care as much about him as he does about them. Particularly with Riley’s brand level of unbridled enthusiasm.

While he’s putting effort into building relationships with his hall mates and likes to consider Dave essentially his other closest companion, the merge with Riley’s world introduces another friend in the form of Isadora Smackle.

She’s not quite like any other friend he’s ever had, but then again neither is Riley. Isadora is an intriguing paradox of a human being, a self-proclaimed scientist without a nurturing bone in her body yet one of the most supportive friends he’s ever had. She’s about a foot shorter than him, petite and bespectacled, but she has to be one of the most naturally intimidating people in the entire world.

She encourages both him and Riley to do their absolute best, but unlike the latter she won’t coddle them to do it. She’ll say quite outright if something isn’t being done to her satisfaction, and if she could use anything to improve her overall quality of living Lucas thinks it would probably be a filter. He has to assume she’s never even fathomed the idea the way whatever she’s thinking just shoots out of her mouth without a second’s hesitation.

Lucas can’t think of one time in his life where he didn’t obsess over what he was going to say before he said it. The amount of confidence Isadora walks around with is almost scary in a fascinating sort of way, like the way he watches so many horror movies even if he lies awake having to logically work through all the fallacies to get to sleep at night because of them.

Still, he’s grateful to have her in his life. Within a week of knowing her, he can’t imagine his college experience without her.

Except when she’s lecturing him on how he should be handling his less than stellar housing situation. In those moments, he figures he could survive just fine without her.

“The way you’re handling it is completely ridiculous,” Isadora lectures as they’re braving breakfast in the dining hall. It’s the one across campus from Adams by Riley’s building where he spent the night, so the chances of running into the subject of their conversation are small. “There is simply no reason for you to be putting yourself through the stress of acting as though you’re homeless when you have a perfectly suitable dormitory awaiting you. You’re paying for it just as much as he is.”

Lucas holds up a finger, swallowing his spoonful of cornflakes. “Technically, my scholarship is paying for it.”

“Even more to the point. You claim that Minkus believes you didn’t earn your spot in the honors dorm, but certainly if you’re boasting a full ride then you must have some credit to your name.”

“Well, first off, the scholarship isn’t a full ride. Not yet.” Isadora frowns, raising an eyebrow. “It’s a preliminary thing. I have to maintain a good performance this semester before they decide whether or not I’m worth funding the entire four years.”

After a moment, she shrugs, returning her attention to her omelet. “That’s beside the point. You’re changing the subject to avoid dealing with it. All I am attempting to make clear is that you have just as much a right to the space as he does, and there is no reason for you to be sleeping on floors and couches for the rest of your freshman year.”

Lucas opens his mouth to argue, but no reasonable explanation comes out. He knows he’s being silly about the whole thing—he doesn’t want to admit it, but he doesn’t believe otherwise. He rolls his eyes instead, downing more cereal for the sake of doing something.

“Perhaps if he’s such trouble, I should have a talk with your supposed intellectual roommate,” she continues, poking at the egg on her plate. Lucas can already come up with ten thousand reasons for why that suggestion is a terrible idea, but it doesn’t seem as though he’s going to need them. Isadora has stopped talking, glancing over his shoulder as something catches her eye.

He barely has time to turn around before he’s shoved lightly from behind, making him jump in spite of himself. Before he can properly assess whether or not he should defend himself a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders and Riley’s friendly voice chirps right into his ear.

“Happy birthday!”

It’s amazing for a girl with noodle arms how tightly she can squeeze. Lucas breaks into a sheepish grin as he feels her kiss the top of his head.

Isadora watches the exchange with mild interest. “I didn’t realize it was your birthday. You didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, that was intentional.”

“September 3rd,” Riley proclaims proudly, propping her chin on his head and giving him one more swaying hug before she pulls away. She slides into the seat next to Isadora, her grin even wider than his. “Facebook is a wonderful source of important information like this.”

“Thank you, Riley. Now the whole cafeteria knows.”

“As they should.”

Isadora gives her a smirk, tilting her head in his direction. “I was just explaining to Lucas how ridiculous he’s being about the unfortunate roommate situation. Now that I know it’s his special day, I suppose I should’ve gone easier on him.”

Lucas and Isadora exchange a look, making faces at each other. Riley giggles, propping her elbows on the table and reaching forward to poke at his arms.

“So? What’s the plan?”

He blinks at her. “As in?”

“What are we doing for your birthday?” Riley cocks her head, continuing to jab her index finger pointedly into his forearm. “Big celebratory dinner? Grand adventure? Another round of bowling with the usual crew?”

Lucas isn’t sure if their friend group of two weeks yet constitutes a “usual crew,” but there’s a definite amount of pride in his chest at the notion. It’s a relief to envision himself as a part of something, an integral piece to the other lives passing through Quincy campus that marks him as relevant. Known to exist, meant to belong.

“I was thinking class, then class, and then going to bed for more class tomorrow.” Riley’s resulting pout is enough to elicit a laugh from him. He waves her hand away. “Look, this is the punishment for having a birthday in the middle of the week. Nothing good comes of it. This is why I didn’t tell anyone.”

“No, you didn’t tell anyone because you’re the kind of person who downplays your own importance and didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of it.”

Maybe the accelerated friendship from crashing on her couch isn’t such a good thing after all. It’s a little terrifying, how quickly Riley can read him like an open book when no one is supposed to be able to do that. It’s always been that way, and he didn’t anticipate for it to change any time soon.

“Well, it is a big deal, and I think we should do something about it.” Riley turns her attention to Isadora, elbowing her and leaning in closer as if to speak conspiratorially. “Don’t you agree, Iz? Don’t you think we should do something to celebrate?”

Isadora’s gaze lingers on her friend, seemingly trying to decide whether appeasing her is worth throwing Lucas under the bus. It’s obviously a difficult decision.

He doesn’t give her the chance to reach a consensus, gathering his dishes and getting to his feet. “Look, if you really think you can pull something together in the remaining hours of the day while it’s still my birthday, then I’m not going to stop you. But right now, I have calculus.”

Riley lets out a dramatic gasp, leaning back and raising her eyebrows at him. “Is that a challenge? Are you seriously doubting my ability to pull off such a demonstration of my undying affection?”

“Yes. Mostly because you have class too, and no normal human could throw something together in such limited time.”

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “You and your answers.”

* * *

Farkle continues to prove how inept he is at social etiquette the longer his roommate continues to go to extreme measures to avoid him.

If he was annoyed the first time Lucas blew him off, the way they’ve progressed since their first week fight has been downright agonizing. Despite how much it stung at the time, Farkle knows in his heart that Lucas was probably telling the truth when he claimed that ditching him in the dining hall was a result of forgetfulness rather than a pointed display of disinterest. Considering how much everyone else in their hall seems to absolutely adore him, it’s more than likely that his roommate is actually a pretty nice guy and the mistake was out of character for him as opposed to indicative.

Farkle can acknowledge all of this, and yet somehow, he can’t bring himself to try and make amends.

Even if the first instance was a misunderstanding, the last two weeks of dead silent interactions is definitely not unintentional. Farkle was so concerned with Lucas blowing him off, and in getting so upset about it and lashing out he essentially pushed him into doing just that on a regular basis. He doesn’t see why it should bother him so much since they’re not friends and they barely know each other, but every night that Lucas chooses to stay out somewhere else instead of coming back to their room is a minor cut to his ego and certainly doesn’t make him want to fix things between them.

If anything, it’s another example of how mismatched they are as roommates to begin with. Of course Lucas already has plenty of friends with whom he can escape to dodge interacting with him for more than five seconds a day. Of course the entire floor loves him and if they were to make their disagreements public the whole dorm would take his side and turn on the nerdy, awkward outsider from New York. Why did Farkle expect anything about his life to be different the moment he jumped coasts, as if Quincy had some great cosmic fix waiting for him to alleviate all the problems he’s ever had—with himself, with his relationships, with the universe all the way up to the stars above him?

When he wakes up in the morning and the bed across from him is unsurprisingly empty, he tells himself he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, it’s not important, he has more important things to be focused on than his stupidly perfect roommate.

It would be a lot more convincing if he could stop thinking about it so much.

Despite his typically brilliant brain’s inability to let it go, he’s not wrong in the fact that he has other priorities to concentrate on. He’s got one friendship going for him with Maya, and he is putting all his effort into maintaining it so he doesn’t go through the entire school year alone. He’s also attempting to keep up the couple of friendships he had back in New York, making a concerted effort to contact Ethan and Noah and initiate a conversation.

For what it’s worth, he feels as though his home back on the east coast has already forgotten about him. Sure, his mother texts him practically every day wanting to hear about all the adventures he’s getting up to while at school (read: none), but otherwise it’s like he was never there to begin with. Ethan is hard to negotiate a time with for a call, although he does put in some energy to work something out. Noah hasn’t responded to him at all. He hasn’t heard from his father since the end of August, when the whole family had a brief call to discuss his first couple of weeks.

He knows they’re likely all quite busy, and all of their excuses of work and school are honest and valid. But with how all of his other relationships seem to be tanking as of late, it’s difficult not to feel as though he’s inevitably screwing these up as well. Even from three thousand miles away.

Farkle never figured he’d be one to succumb to homesickness, but he misses New York City every day. His eclectic concrete jungle where even the misfit could find a place to fit in. He misses the relentless noise and imperfect company and the universal understanding that no day was possible to face without a shot of coffee straight to the bloodstream. He misses it to the point of a stomach ache, keeping him up at night when the campus is too quiet and there’s nothing else taking up the space with him but his thoughts.

He’s empty without New York, but the city carries on in his absence without question. Just like everybody and everything else.

In spite of the funk, Farkle tries not to let it all get to him. It’s his freshman year of college, supposedly the most stimulating time of his young life. He tries hard to maintain an optimistic outlook even though it conflicts with every single aspect of his cynical, analytical world view.

It becomes a little easier when Ethan finally manages to work out a time for them to video call, set for the first week of September. Farkle decides to focus on that and his more than enjoyable hang outs with Maya instead of the silence from the other side of the continent and the increasingly empty atmosphere that consumes his half lived-in dorm room.

He’s just setting up his laptop in preparation for the call when Lucas swoops in that afternoon, catching him by surprise. Considering how little he sees him at night when he’s supposed to be in their room, it’s a true rarity to see him during the day at all.

“What are you doing here?” Farkle only realizes how hostile the question sounds after it’s left his mouth.

Lucas blinks, clearly not used to being addressed by him. Their pattern of ignoring each other is running on about three weeks of fuel and starting to feel like an expectation, so Farkle can’t fault the confused expression on his face.

It hardens to a glare a second later. “Left a textbook here.”

“Oh.”

“Didn’t realize I needed an invitation to enter my own room,” he says flatly, demonstrating an astonishingly skilled dedication to deadpan. His father had always given him the impression that country folk were less likely to be receptive to tones like deadpan and sarcasm, but Lucas certainly doesn’t seem to lack a fundamental understanding of the concepts.

If anything, Farkle figures if he got him going he could give him a run for his money.

But he’s not looking for another fight. He’s not particularly interested in extending an olive branch either, but he’s effectively determined he would rather the situation not get any worse than it already is. “I didn’t mean to imply that. I’m just not used to seeing you here. That’s all.”

Lucas pauses as he retrieves the textbook from his desk, keeping his eyes on the cover. Not willing to acknowledge the unbearably tense arrangement they’ve created for themselves, probably because he has no idea what to say even if he wanted to. Farkle knows the feeling—for all the moments of weakness he’s laid in bed in the deafening silence trying to come up with how to remedy their broken dynamic, no brilliant solution ever comes to mind.

He’s a genius, and apparently his roommate is pretty smart himself. If neither of them can come up with a great fix for their dilemma, then he doesn’t see how it could be salvageable at all.

Lucas never offers a response, taking his book and retreating back out to the grand expanse of campus without another word. Farkle wonders each time he leaves out the door if that exit is going to be his last. That could have very well been his final chance to make amends, and he floundered it with a limited amount of effort.

He sighs, diverting his attention back to his laptop. Opting to let the problem fester for another day like he always does.

The bang that erupts as someone rams into his doorframe is enough to elicit a startled yelp from him. Before he whips around, there’s a fleeting second where he worries maybe Lucas has returned to really lay into him. Not that he’s spent a lot of time reflecting on it, but Farkle has not neglected to notice the toned muscles in his roommate’s arms. He’s pretty sure he could knock him out with one punch.

Not that he assumes Lucas is inherently violent—he seems rather conflict avoidant with how much exertion he’s spending to evade his presence entirely. But if it were to come down to throwing a few swings, Farkle has absolutely zero doubt that he would come out victorious.

His irrational fear turns out to be misdirected anyway. It’s not Lucas in their doorway but Dave, looking out of breath and leaning against the frame for dramatic emphasis. He glances behind him down the hall before taking a pointed scan of the room. “Is Lucas here?”

“No.” Farkle can’t even bother to be surprised that he’s there for his roommate rather than him. “You just missed him.”

“Damn,” Dave exhales, slouching further against the door.

“Is everything okay? There’s not an emergency is there?”

“Oh, nah, nah,” he says offhandedly, shaking his head. “Just been trying to catch him all day and wish him a happy birthday. He’s slippery, isn’t he? I feel like he’s never around.”

Part of Farkle fixates on the fact that there’s no way Dave doesn’t know the exact reason Lucas is never around since he’s spent more than a couple of nights on his floor, but most of him is preoccupied with the earlier half of his explanation.

“It’s his birthday?”

Dave nods, pushing himself from the frame and back to his full height. “Yeah. You didn’t know?”

For whatever reason, the way Dave asks him so directly makes him more defensive than usual. Of course he didn’t know it was Lucas’s birthday considering the hellish relationship the two of them have managed to develop, but he hates the insinuation that it’s his fault alone for how everything has fallen apart. Like it was his job to go searching for important information regarding the roommate who absolutely despises him, and he failed in continuing to acquiesce to his perfect face even if he gets spit in return.

Farkle should tell him off. He should defend himself with his impeccably sound logic. But he does neither of those things.

“Oh, no, yeah, I did,” he lies, waving Dave off as casually as he can muster. “Just slipped my mind for a second there. Lots going on up here, you know how it is.”

He’s strangely relieved when Dave seems to buy his excuse, smiling and backing off. “Yeah, for sure. Hey, if you see him before I do, can you relay the message? Or tell him to stop by so I can murder him with my killer bear hug.”

Farkle agrees, knowing he won’t do any such thing since the likelihood of seeing Lucas again for the next forty-eight hours—if not more—is highly improbable. But it’s enough to get his lanky hall mate out of his hair. When Dave disappears he leaps up and shuts the door, returning to his desk chair just as the video chat begins ringing.

He can’t help the grin that spreads across his lips when he finds a familiar friendly face looking back at him. “Hasanov, my number one chemical engineer. Tell me your semester is off to a better start than mine.”

“Depends. How bad is yours going if you’re checking for confirmation?”

Farkle recounts his first few weeks with as much relevant detail as possible, trying and objectively failing to remain impartial on explanations of the situation between him and Lucas. He pauses and listens politely while Ethan discusses some of his own grievances and goings-on, anxiously waiting for the next opportunity to launch into another frustrated story.

If there’s one thing Farkle has always appreciated about Ethan, it’s that he’s a hell of a good listener. He waits patiently through each of his numerous complaints, nodding along and offering advice or support where appropriate.

They eventually drift into other subjects aside from Lucas, reflecting on the simplicities of high school at their magnet school or eagerly chatting about the new update coming out on their go-to RPG video game. When Ethan mentions Noah in respect to his feelings on the upcoming graphics enhancements, Farkle braves venturing the question that has been itching at him the last couple weeks.

“So you’ve talked to Noah? Recently?”

“Yeah, today,” Ethan says. He picks up his phone and scans through it briefly. “Just before this call we were discussing which starter he should choose for his replay of Pokémon Emerald. I told him Mudkip was the obvious choice like fourteen times, but you know how he’s always picking the grass types like a dumbass.”

Farkle’s pulse quickens at the reality that the cold shoulder from Noah is evidently not by consequence of a busy schedule. He doesn’t want to get all worked up about it, especially not in front of Ethan, but there’s a strange pain in the back of his throat that he’s not thrilled about as his friend continues to ramble on about starter Pokémon.

He’s less skilled at concealing the emotion than he hopes, because Ethan notices the shift in his expression. He hesitates, frowning at him from the other side of the screen. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah.” Farkle clears his throat. “I’ve just been trying to talk to Noah, but had trouble reaching him. I figured he was really busy or something.”

Ethan frowns, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That’s weird. I didn’t get that impression. Today at least. But you’re probably right. I’m sure that’s why.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’d just ignore you for the sake of doing it. Like, who would do that anyway?”

Farkle tries to ignore the chill that seems to come from Lucas’s side of the room. He nods stiffly, willing himself to buy Ethan’s justification. “For sure. Just, um, if you talk to him again, can you let him know I asked? I’ll try on my own again and stuff, but—,”

“You got it.” Ethan hesitates, examining him thoughtfully for a moment longer before opting to change the subject. “Anyway, bicyclists. I don’t know if you have them on your campus, but they’re maniacs. Acting like they own the sidewalk, screw the pedestrians. Like, what’s that about?”

* * *

Lucas learns damn quick that he should never, ever underestimate Riley Matthews.

When he gets through calculus with no updates from her he figures she’s given up, and he makes his way to his world history lecture without giving it further thought. It’s a nice sentiment, really, and he appreciates her kindness. But he’s never been big on birthdays, least of all his own, so he doesn’t expect his college years to be any different.

Maybe it’s because for as long as he can remember, celebrations have been far and few between in the Friar household. He knows it’s partially because they can’t exactly afford to go all out every time someone gets a promotion or graduates or survives another year in the plaintive purgatory known as Turlock. He knows it’s somewhat because his family has simply never been big on displays of affection, big or small, and it’s a trait his grandfather passed onto his father who then passed it on to him. No sense in wasting time or money on something so frivolous when there’s work to be done and better ways for both to be spent.

But deep down, he knows the real reason he doesn’t care much for his birthday is because he was trained to think that way. He’s been conditioned since he was old enough to recognize the reality of their familial situation—the reality that if his parents could turn back the clock and have it their way, they’d fix all their mistakes so they never had him in the first place. They never discuss it, but it’s an unspoken understanding. With the way his father does such an expert job of ignoring him, however, it’s not exactly a mystery.

In any case, his aversion to recognizing the day he was put on this Earth is as ingrained in him as his nature of Southern hospitality or the way he always puts the parking brake on in the truck. It’s the way he was raised, and he doesn’t see how he’s ever going to unlearn it.

That is, until he emerges from the humanities building and finds Riley standing on the curb side with Dave, surrounded by about a dozen blue and silver balloons and holding the biggest card he’s ever seen.

The moment they lock eyes, Riley’s eyes widen considerably and she waves her hand aggressively at Dave. “Now! Now!”

His hall mate reaches down and hits the play button on a small boom box—okay, where the hell did they get _that_?—causing “Birthday” by The Beatles to flood the airwaves in front of Moore Hall.

Lucas can feel his cheeks grow hot as he rushes down the steps to stop them. People are turning their heads to see the commotion, and he’s pretty sure if another person eyes him he’s going to break out in hives.

“What are you doing?”

Riley is delighted at the look of disbelief on his face. “Aw, look at you, you’re blushing. Do you like the balloons? I know blue is your favorite color—well, at least I assume it is since you’ve worn a variation of it for the last two weeks.”

The embarrassment is softening to cold shock, leaving him without comment. He takes a moment to let his brain catch up and the adrenaline drain from his veins, deactivating his flight or fight response. He doesn’t know why any sort of attention triggers such a knee jerk reaction from him. While he can easily trace the origins of his disregard for festivity, his desire to remain invisible as often as possible is a little harder to explain.

“Then we went with The Beatles because we know how much you like them. Dave assured me of this because he said whenever you’re in your room you play it loud enough that he can hear it.”

“Only because my door is open,” Dave adds. “You’re not like Wyatt, who plays his Post Malone loud enough the entire dorm can hear.”

“So then I was doing research to figure out which one of their songs to play, and when I saw they had a song called ‘Birthday’? I mean, it’s like it was meant to be. No such thing as coincidence, after all.” Both of them are talking so fast Lucas feels like he can’t get a word in edgewise. “But I knew a phone speaker wasn’t going to be good enough, so I borrowed Jade’s player and burned a quick disc. I may have downloaded the song illegally. Shh, don’t tell Paul or Ringo.”

After a couple of seconds of silence, it seems as though Riley is officially finished. Lucas manages a nod, trying to blink away the surprise. He taps the boom box with his shoe, hitting pause and saving the other students around them further irritation.

Finally, he finds a word. “Wow.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Riley says, showing off her dimples as she gives him a grin. She props the card at her feet, pulling it open wide for him to get a better look. “Did you see the card?”

Lucas tilts it back to read it in full. Considering how little time she had to put it together, the scale at which she’s pulled off the glittery creation is a feat in it of itself.

“Nice. Is that a purple cat?”

“Signature craftsmanship,” she says offhandedly, smiling down at the board to admire her handiwork.

“Well, I guess I was wrong.” Lucas crosses his arms, offering her a nod. Although he bet on the wrong horse this time around, he still feels warm inside. It’s hard to keep the smirk off his face. “You win. Thanks for the celebration.”

“Oh, you didn’t think this was it, did you?” Riley shakes her head at him, as if she’s wondering how on Earth he could be so silly. “No, no, my friend, we’re just getting started. Hope you packed light, because we’re not taking any pit stops. Off we go onto our next great adventure.”

Lucas would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued, but he’s distracted by the balloons and the giant card standing between them. “And we’re going to drag all this along with us?”

“No, please. Why do you think he’s here?” She jerks a thumb in Dave’s direction.

He nods solemnly, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Yes, I’ve been left out of the grand adventure for the sake of getting all this junk back to our dorm.”

“And you agreed to that?”

“Of course. I’d do anything for my good, dashing hall mate Lucas James Friar.” Dave grins at him, throwing his arm around his shoulders and jostling him a bit. Then he licks his lips, staring down at the haul and shrugging. “The ten dollar bribe didn’t hurt, either.”

“Okay, that’s quite enough. Thank you, Dave. Off you go.”

He elbows Lucas playfully in the ribs as he pulls away from him, beginning to gather the items from Riley. She carefully ties the balloons around his wrist before stepping back to allow him to take over. She manages to tear her eyes away from all her hard work, giving Lucas another bright-eyed smile.

“So, are you ready for part two? I was serious about the pit stop thing. If you have any like, life-threatening allergy medications or a phone charger to grab, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

He mirrors her smile, holding his hands out indicatively and shrugging. “I’m probably going to regret this, but I have no reasons to postpone this venture any longer. I’m at your mercy, Matthews.”

She happily takes his hand in her own, beginning to lead him down the sidewalk towards the other side of campus. There’s a spring in her step, and she’s practically singing as she forges the path of their next grand endeavor. “Lucas Friar, you are in for the best birthday of your young life. Mark my words.”

Considering how little competition she has, Lucas figures she’s bound to be right.

* * *

Although he keeps his stress over his AWOL friend from home to himself, Farkle easily finds reprieve in how eagerly Maya wants to tear down his AWOL roommate.

He likes to think he’s being objective as he updates her on how they’ve continued to deteriorate, but there’s a deep sense of pride in his stomach that is strengthened by how sincerely Maya takes his side. She rolls her eyes at the appropriate times, shakes her head to emphasis her disdain, even pretends to gag at one point which Farkle finds a bit dramatic but appreciates immensely.

They’ve never actually met, but if he didn’t know any better, Farkle would bet that Maya Hart hates Lucas just as much as he does. That’s loyalty, and he’ll be damned if he ever finds it in a new friend again.

When he gets to the present and explains their earlier interaction, his blonde friend huffs pointedly. Her focus is down on her sketchbook, working on a free sketch of him across from her. But the scowl on her face is definitely because of the content of his report.

“Isn’t that always the way?” she says in disgust, shaking her head. She lifts her gaze to examine him for a moment, perfecting the lines on one section of her piece. “Perfect popular royalty making dumb decisions on their own accord, then acting as though you’re the one causing them so much trouble. Like, if he was really so inconvenienced being left out of his dorm he could just… come back and face you like someone with balls.”

Farkle isn’t sure her perspective is exactly correct considering he knows he was in the wrong to some degree, but damn if it doesn’t feel good to hear. He can’t help but smirk, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back against his palms. “I don’t know. I feel like he has this whole bashful thing going on. It’s his birthday today, and he didn’t even tell me. He didn’t say anything about it.”

“So totally an act. My half-sisters back home do it all the time, where you act all innocent and humble so that any time you’re mildly put off it seems like a bigger offense than it actually is. Makes people feel bad for you, or want to be in your good graces.” She reaches out like a whip, grabbing his knee and making him hold still. “Stop fidgeting so much. You’re disturbing the artistic process.”

He didn’t even notice he had been bouncing his leg. He raises a hand in surrender, allowing her to focus back on her work. He lets his mind wander as he watches the world from their perch above the campus center.

Despite her prior experience with the type, Farkle isn’t convinced that Lucas’s modest behavior is an act. Partially because it seems far too complex and exhausting to maintain such a façade, but also because he noticed it in him the first night they met. As far as he can remember, even though they were both nervous and probably not quite themselves as new social situations often warp personalities one way or the other, he seemed genuine enough and definitely not out to manipulate him.

He seemed perfectly nice, and interesting enough that Farkle wanted to be his friend. He can remember that desire clearly, regardless of how hard he’s been working to try and forget it.

Farkle doesn’t let himself linger on the last month or so too much. Because the moment he does he starts to overthink, and when he ruminates deep enough on the whole falling out he starts to realize all of the places he made the wrong choice and all the ways he dug his own grave. He can see all the ways this is his fault plain as day, but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it.

His father taught him a lot of things. He taught him how to wheel and deal, he taught him how to own a room with an air of confidence, and he taught him that the family name is a label of pride he should never be ashamed to own. But what he neglected to instill in him was the knowledge of how to handle a situation where you don’t come out the winner, where you don’t make the deal, where exactly what you need is to give up your pride and start building bridges.

He doesn’t know how to let go of his pride, so he just clings to it harder instead. He’s certain if he clutches it any tighter, it’ll crumble in his fingers and then he’ll really be at a loss.

“Okay, coffee break,” Maya declares, sticking her pencil in the binding to keep her page and closing the sketchbook. She climbs to her feet, brushing her hair out of her eyes and looking down at him. “Want anything?”

“If I don’t get some caffeine in me in the next five minutes I think I’ll shrivel up and die,” Farkle admits, reaching into his pocket to get his wallet. “Soy chai latte, shot of expresso.”

Maya waves him off as he attempts to hand her some bills. “It’s on me this round.” When he opens his mouth to protest she talks over him. “Listen, I’m not going to let you pay for everything in our symbiotic partnership here, no matter how loaded you are. I’m your friend, not your bitch.”

“Charming. Weren’t you just saying the other day that you wanted a sugar daddy?”

Maya cracks up. “Sorry, darling, you’re not my type. But thanks for the offer. Be back before you shrivel up.”

Farkle watches her go, marching into the campus coffee house. He eyes her sketchbook, curiosity plaguing him at how he’s turning out from the perspective of her artistic eye. Maya is very particular about not showing a work off until it’s complete, so every glance he’s attempted to sneak while she works has been easily thwarted.

He’s always been terrible at being patient, but Maya is right when she says she’s his friend. She’s his only friend, and he doesn’t want to ruin it by betraying one of her sacred artistic rules. So he distracts himself instead, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his messages even though it’s been silent since he texted Ethan this morning.

Farkle can’t stop staring at the messages between him and Noah, scrolling through them as far back as he can go to search for what he may have said that made things go so wrong. Nothing seems out of the ordinary—just small talk about what’s going on with his new college experience—but the last message he received from him being marked over a week old sends an uncomfortable wave of nerves creeping through him.

He’s still fixated on it when Maya returns. She hands him his drink as she settles back down next to him. “Why so glum, sugar plum?”

Farkle shrugs, shoving the phone back in his pocket. “It’s nothing.”

“That expression is not nothing,” she argues. She takes maybe half a sip of coffee before the sketchbook is back in her lap. “Furrowed brow, slight downturn in the lips, crinkle around the eyes. All tell-tale marks of a demure expression, any artist worth their salt would recognize it.”

He’s pretty sure her explanation is mostly bullshit, but he can tell she’s not going to let it go. Even though her gaze is trained on her art, her stubborn determination radiates off her like solar energy.

“It’s just this dumb thing with a friend from home,” he says offhandedly. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with him and he hasn’t been answering my texts.”

“Left on read?”

“He doesn’t have read receipts on, but considering he’s been in communication with the other member of our trio, I’d say probably.”

Maya shakes her head, taking another sip of her coffee with a sour expression on her face. “God, why is everyone being such a tool these days? Like, if this dude has a problem with you he should just tell you.”

“I guess.”

“Listen, it’s the most obnoxious thing in the entire world when people pull this bullshit.” She huffs, crossing her legs. He notices how she won’t look him in the eyes, suddenly speaking from somewhere too personal to allow for eye contact. “Like, if you have a problem with someone but you don’t tell them so, how are they supposed to do anything about it? How are they supposed to fix it so you don’t have that problem anymore? It’s the cowards move is what it is. They let everything fall apart and then they can just blame it on you when the dust settles.”

Although she’s talking about Noah or whatever prior experience she’s referring to from her own life, Farkle can’t help but ruminate over how true her complaints are in application to his other current cold shoulder.

“You know what you need to do?” Maya meets his eyes, determination shining through her sparkling blue eyes. He doesn’t feel anything particularly strong towards his friend other than platonic fondness, but even he has to admit that those baby blues are damn hard to look away from. “You want answers from this kid? Don’t give him the chance to ice you out. Call him, get him on the phone, and don’t let him hang up until he explains himself.”

The very insinuation of doing something so bold and confrontational sends adrenaline shooting through Farkle’s veins. He’s never been much of an aggressor, relying on passive aggression to get his discontent across. Considering how well it worked on Lucas, he can’t say it’s never been effective.

But the thought of continuing to listen to radio silence on the other end of one of his only friendships gives him a far worse feeling. It’s like a major business deal that could make or break an important partnership, and he knows that if his father were in his shoes he’d step up to the plate and negotiate the contract. No matter how much anxiety fills his ribcage when he dials that number.

He’s always thinking in terms of what his father would do, he realizes. He wonders what he would do if he decided to think for himself.

“I’ll think about it,” Farkle says finally, allowing his latte to occupy his mouth in lieu of saying more.

“That’s your problem,” Maya says with a sigh. She drops her cup on the concrete next to them, picking back up her sketchbook and getting back to work. She takes one long, thoughtful look at him, examining every angle for her artistic perception. “You think way too much.”

* * *

Riley’s next step on their grand birthday adventure turns out to be leading Lucas straight to the campus garage. Isadora is waiting for them with her car, and in the time it takes for Riley to give her friend a grateful hug and explain the situation to him they’re heading off campus and towards the highway.

It’s a somewhat lengthy drive to their destination, about which Riley continues to remain elusive. She manages to distract him from wondering too much by putting on a carefully curated playlist and encouraging him and Isadora to sing along from the back middle seat. He’s doing a pretty good job of playing hard to get until she skips to “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and from there and it’s all a losing battle.

It’s impossible not to sing along to “Bohemian Rhapsody,” after all. He may feel like a martian half the time, but he’s not completely inept.

When they pull off the road to get gas, Riley disappears into the station. She claims she’s collecting the last of their necessary materials, but when Lucas tries to get her to explain what exactly she means she simply gives him a sly look before skipping her way through the pumps and between the sliding doors.

So for a moment he’s left alone with Isadora, leaning against the hood of her dated hatchback while she works with the pump.

“How much of this did you know about?” he asks curiously, stuffing his hands in his pockets and giving her an eyebrow raise. When she merely shrugs, he gives her a pointed look. “Am I supposed to believe you agreed to this without having any idea what you were getting into?”

Isadora offers a diplomatic head tilt, maintaining an impressively neutral expression. “I knew enough to know it would be worth the effort. The rest is all Riley, and she finds much satisfaction in the whole reaction aspect of giving a gift. That’s her gift to herself, I believe. Getting to fully soak up the way her loved one responds to the surprise.”

“Yeah, figured that out pretty quick.”

“As for why I agreed,” she continues, keeping her eyes on the handle of the gas pump in her fingers. “Riley simply has a way of making you want to follow along with whatever convoluted scheme she’s cooked up next. She’s quite persuasive.”

Lucas isn’t going to argue with that. He can remember how easily she roped him into bowling that first Friday night in August, just with sheer force of will and her bubbly charm. Despite all the bullshit that developed because of it, he’s glad she pulled him into her world even if he wasn’t so sure at first. There have been plenty of exciting moments and adventures since then that made the risk more than worthwhile.

Besides, for all intents and purposes, she’s the first true friend he’s made since leaving home. She’s the only person he’s ever met who manages to match up to Zay, making it possible to survive the distance and transition from being a packaged deal with him to standing on his own. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to repay her for that, whether she realizes it or not.

Even still, he doesn’t think the way he finds her persuasive is exactly the way Isadora does. He doesn’t know what about the situation makes him think so, but something about the subtle twinkle in her eyes and the way she won’t look at him catches his attention. Like there’s something under the surface of the conversation he’s not quite getting, an inkling that there’s more to this dynamic than meets the eye.

The meter clicks. Isadora pulls back from her car, slamming her gas tank closed before joining him against the car. She leans back against the driver’s side door, just far enough away to maintain her preferred amount of personal space but close enough to make it clear she’s sharing the moment with him.

“You’re not upset with her are you?”

“Riley?” He can’t help the shock laced through his tone. The mere suggestion of being mad at someone so full of positive energy seems ridiculous. “I don’t even think that’s possible.”

A smile crosses Isadora’s lips. She nods, conceding that fact. “True. I was only wondering because I know you said you didn’t enjoy people making a big deal out of your birthday. If this trip were to make you more uncomfortable rather than happy, I’m sure Riley wouldn’t feel too great about that. Especially since honoring you is her grand intent in the first place.”

“No, I think she’s managed to pull it off.” Lucas glances over his shoulder towards the station, wondering what the hell she’s up to in there. No feelings of malcontent present at the thought of her. “I don’t know, it’s not really the action of it all that’s the problem. Just not something I’m used to. I’m not someone who loves to break routine, even if it might be better for me. I guess.”

There’s a beat of silence. Lucas swallows, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets for the sake of doing something. He isn’t sure how he ended up opening up about himself when he’s learned well enough that it’s better when he doesn’t do that. When he’s fairly certain she doesn’t care either way. People rarely do, after all.

After a few seconds, Isadora clears her throat.

“Well, if it makes you feel better about it, I’m glad Riley blew the secret.” She lifts her gaze to meet his, twisting a stray thread on her cardigan nervously. “I’m happy to have gotten the chance to celebrate the occasion with you.”

Lucas smiles lightly, feeling some of the usual tension in his shoulder blades evaporate. “Thanks. Me too.”

They’re pulled out of the moment by Riley darting back through the pumps, moving fast and cradling a small paper bag in her arms. She’s got a mischievous grin on her face, and her eyes are wide as she gestures for them to get moving.

“Start the car. Start it!”

Lucas and Isadora exchange a look, pushing off the car and rushing to get into the vehicle. Lucas yanks the back door open for Riley and she leaps into it as he settles back into the passenger seat. She’s breathless with excitement, anxiously slapping the back of Isadora’s headrest.

“Go!”

It isn’t until they’re well on their way down the road towards their final destination that Riley stops giggling enough to reveal her final puzzle piece. She pulls a cheap looking bottle of champagne out of the paper bag, showing it off with the obvious nervous pride of a girl who rarely makes risky moves.

“I wasn’t sure if the fake Yogi gave me was going to work,” she says, looking at the token of her successful wrongdoing with an unbridled sense of satisfaction. “Wanted to get far away before anybody decided to double check things.”

Lucas highly doubts that some dingy gas station on the side of the road is going to put much effort into chasing a bunch of college kids for using a fake. Considering Riley barely looks like a high school graduate let alone twenty-one, he gets the feeling it wasn’t a careless mistake on the part of the cashier to sell her the stuff but rather a conscious decision not to care.

Still, the tickled look on her face is too charming not to share in her excitement. With all the pieces falling into place, Lucas is absolutely certain before they even start the night that Riley has won their disagreement.

* * *

Maya Hart is right about one thing—Farkle cannot seem to stop thinking.

When he leaves her at the campus center for the day and heads back to his dorm, he’s determined to take her advice and call Noah. If he simply calls him, then he can figure out what he has to do next. Formulate a plan of action. He’s excellent at making plans, all he needs is the right tools in his toolbox to get it done. That all starts with acquiring all necessary information.

Yet in the hour that passes when he gets back, all he manages to do is procrastinate with menial tasks for twenty minutes then waste the rest staring at his phone on his desk, seemingly frozen and incapable of actual action.

He’s giving himself a headache with how intensely he’s glaring at it. Like if he wills it to with enough mental energy, the phone will dial itself and work out all his problems with no effort necessary from him. Someone should invent a mobile device that does just that. He makes a mental note to pitch it to his dad over Thanksgiving break.

Another five minutes. Another five minutes of inertia.

“Do it,” he mutters to himself, growing frustrated. Endlessly aggravated by his apparent complete inability to do anything social properly, as if he’s secretly a different species of human entirely and thus will never fully understand the customs and language of the world he’s supposed to exist in effortlessly. Continuing to make himself an outsider with hardly any work at all. “Just do something!”

He kicks at the leg of his desk, slouching back in his chair and crossing his arms. He exhales harshly, feeling that tingle in the center of his forearms that seems to always accompany situations like this. The tingle that he’s only discovered two remedies for—naps for the sake of blocking out the world, and weed.

Farkle glances towards the other side of the room, taking in Lucas’s neatly ordered living space. So much blue—the sheets on his bed, the jean jacket hanging on the end of the bed frame, the throw blanket dangling off the foot of the mattress from the last time he haphazardly tossed it there after staying another place for the night.

It looks homemade. He wonders absentmindedly who must’ve made it for him, who’s important enough to his elusive roommate to warrant dragging that blanket along to college with him.

If Lucas were faced with a situation like this, Farkle is pretty sure he’d make the phone call without a second thought. At least, it wouldn’t take him an hour and a half. All that natural charm, that friendly smile, he figures there probably hasn’t ever been a need to make such a call. Who on Earth would ever willingly freeze out Lucas Friar?

Well, him, he reminds himself. But he’s the exception to the rule, the outsider to the norm just like he is in every other way.

The notion of how easy it would be for his perfect roommate to do this for some reason spurs him into action. He picks up the phone and flips it over in his hand, pulling up his contacts and hovering over Noah’s name. His thumb is shaking, he notices.

Finally, he slams the call button. The decision is enough to push him to his feet, spurred by nervous energy as he lifts the phone to his ear and ringing fills the silence of the room.

He paces for the entirety of the time it takes for the call to go to voicemail. Deflated, Farkle tosses the phone onto his bed and steps away from it, rubbing his face and trying to stay calm. The tingling in his forearms is damningly persistent.

Of course, he wasn’t going to pick up on the first call. He hasn’t answered any of his texts, so why would he answer a random phone call? No, if Farkle wants to get through to him, he knows he has to be more insistent. As persistent as the chill running through his veins to accompany the prickles.

Taking a deep breath, he whips around and grabs the phone again. His hands tremble as he dials the number again, muttering to himself to stay calm as he sets to pacing again. The ringing on the other end feels numbing, a blank drone accenting how empty his head feels in moments like these.

Noah picks up on the second ring.

“Farkle? What do you want?” Although relief floods through Farkle at the sound of his voice, he can’t deny it’s not exactly a friendly greeting. “Did you butt dial me or what?”

It takes Farkle a couple of seconds to catch up to this twist of events. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dangerously dry. “No, no, I—,” he cuts off, clearing his throat and attempting to get back some of his ability to speak like a normal human being. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

No response on the other end except for Noah’s breathing. Waiting for more.

“I sent you a dozen or so texts. I’m sorry, I’m sure that must’ve been irritating. But I never got a response, so I was wondering if perhaps you weren’t receiving them.” Another awkward silence. “So then I figured calling you to confirm would be the next logical step.”

There’s another deafening pause. When Noah speaks again, his tone is softer but not in the way Farkle would want it to be. It’s still guarded, defensive, albeit laced with a little bit of guilt.

“I saw them.”

Excellent. Not the most ideal information to obtain, but information nonetheless. Farkle immediately begins to process this new admittance, frantically trying to hypothesize what should happen next. “Oh. Okay. Well, would you care to explain why you didn’t answer any of them?”

“I’ve been busy,” Noah murmurs.

“Oh, I believe you. Trust me, me as well.” Farkle grips the back of his desk chair, closing his eyes. He doesn’t understand where this conversation is supposed to go next. He keeps waiting for the clue that will show him how to resolve things, and it never shows. “But I know you’ve been talking to Ethan. So it seems a bit odd that you couldn’t even spare a second—,”

“Farkle, I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Then tell me what the hell is going on!” Farkle winces after the snap leaves his lips, internally cursing to himself and pacing again. He presses his fingers to his temple, trying to get the conversation back on a track that makes sense. “Did something happen? Has something changed?”

“No.”

None of this makes sense. Nothing makes sense. Farkle takes a deep breath, forcing himself to pull it together. Minkus confidence. Minkus confidence.

“Then what did you do?”

For whatever reason, the question seems to be the straw to break the camel’s back. He hears Noah scoff on the other end of the line, and just like that he knows he’s about to get the clue he’s been looking for. But he gets the distinct creeping feeling that he’s not going to like it.

“What did _I_ do?” Noah repeats, another scoff escaping him. He laughs a second later, but it’s not the kind where something is funny. “This is exactly it. You wanted to know why I stopped talking to you? You’re doing it right now.”

Farkle blinks. “Right now?”

“Farkle, when we talked in August, do you remember anything we talked about? Do you remember anything about what I told you about my first month at school?”

He’s always loved tests, but not when they’re pulled on him so suddenly like this. Not when he doesn’t have ample time to prepare. And especially not social ones.

“Sure. We talked about… you had the…”

“Wow, convincing,” Noah snorts. “Excellent response time, genius. Can you even tell me what I’m majoring in? Who are my new friends? If you can name even one of them, I’ll hear you out.”

He’s drawing a blank. His entire mind is one big blank. Even if it wasn’t, he doesn’t see how he could possibly speak when his mouth is so dry.

“Exactly. That’s exactly it.”

“I don’t understand,” he finally sputters, stumbling out of his pacing and slamming against the side of Lucas’s bed accidentally. He winces, screwing his eyes shut again and trying to keep his focus on the issue at hand despite the new throbbing in his hip. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Instinctively, Farkle’s hand searches for something to grasp onto so he doesn’t feel like the room is spinning so hard. The throw blanket on Lucas’s bed is the closest object within arm’s reach, his fingers tentatively touching the soft blue yarn and twisting it anxiously.

“See the thing about high school is, you make friends because they’re the only lifelines you’ve got,” Noah explains, a certain edge of exhaustion in his tone that makes Farkle feel even worse. Because he realizes he must be responsible for that exhaustion in whatever capacity, and he doesn’t see how he could’ve caused it when he didn’t even realize it was happening in the first place. “You and Ethan, you were my high school friends. And I loved you guys, really I did. We got through a lot together.”

Farkle nods, before remembering he can’t see him. There’s no time to offer a verbal response.

“But then you go to college and you make new friends. You choose your friends. And you start to realize that maybe the ones you had in high school weren’t treating you the way they should’ve been. Because my new friends, they ask me how I’m feeling about things. They want to know what I’m interested in or what I’ve got going on. For once, everything isn’t about them, but actually about me.”

He feels like he’s going to be sick. He collapses back into his desk chair, rolling his knuckles against his knee. Anything to try and alleviate that disgustingly cold feeling spreading from his forearms to the rest of his body.

“Friendship is a two-way street, Farkle,” Noah states, obviously having given the statement a lot of contemplation. He just wishes his friend had included him in the thought process. “And not all of them are so overstuffed with pride that there’s no room for anything else.”

Once again, he finds himself cursing the way his parents raised him. In the Minkus household, pride has always been the most paramount thing in the universe. It’s what his father runs his business on, it’s how his mother shields herself from the rest of the world, it’s how Farkle survives every aspect of his life. He can’t imagine what his world would be like if he tore it down.

But he knows he can’t blame everything on his parents. Regardless of what he learned from them, his actions are his own. Even the ones he doesn’t realize he’s committing.

“I’m sorry, Noah,” he says. He hates how pathetic his voice sounds, but he knows no amount of throat clearing is going to fix it. It hurts far too much to attempt anyway, suddenly throbbing with a pain that seems have risen up from somewhere in his lungs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

For what it’s worth, the sigh that Noah lets out actually sounds somewhat sympathetic. But it doesn’t make Farkle feel any better.

“I just…” Another sigh. “I just need space, Farkle. Can you give me that?”

Noah has always been a constant. From their first day of friendship in second grade, Farkle has never known life without Noah Porter. He’s his literature authoritarian, the third point in their triangular trio, and one of the few facets of his life Farkle relied on to never change no matter what else in college did. Noah is part of his very limited safety net, and he can’t imagine pushing him away.

But then, he acknowledges, he already did that. He did it without even realizing it, the same way he did his roommate who he never even gave a chance. It’s ironic in some ways, as he has to admit some things about Lucas remind him unabashedly of his best friend. Not personality, so much, but something about the way he makes him feel. Some subconscious, coded sensation deep in his brain that he isn’t nearly practiced enough to decipher yet.

If he ever wants a chance of fixing this disaster however, unlike Lucas, he thinks stepping back is exactly what he has to do. If he wants to keep Noah in his life for the long haul, then for now he has to respect his wishes and let him go.

He can practically feel the pride beginning to crumble inside him. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Alright. Thanks.” There’s another tense pause, and Farkle knows he’s holding his breath. “I am sorry it all happened this way, Farkle. Hopefully it’ll be for the best.”

“Yes. Yeah, hopefully.”

Noah offers him a tight goodbye before hanging up, leaving him alone with the ice in his forearms and bile in his throat and ruins of his understanding of the world at his feet.

Without giving himself a second to breathe he pushes to his feet, grabbing his jacket and skateboard off the floor and darting to the door. Determined to be anywhere but there as the destruction of his world continues on as scheduled.

* * *

It’s sunset when Isadora finally stops driving, putting the car in park after a rather shaky drive upward along the mountainside. With the way the car is glowing pink and gold from the fading sunlight, Riley claims that it worked out exactly as planned. Everything works out in the end.

Lucas isn’t disappointed by her grand reveal. She’s brought them to the cliff sides, allowing them the chance to walk along the rocks and take in the view of the California green below them as the sun sets around them. The most simplistic, natural beauty in the world right in their backyard, on display for the three of them to enjoy together.

The alcohol, she claims, is a convenient bonus. Lucas isn’t going to complain either way.

It really is the most breathtaking thing he thinks he’s ever seen, and something about the cool mountain air cleanses his soul in a way he didn’t know he needed. It makes him ache for home and the desolate farmland of Turlock, but somehow the twinge is a good feeling. How lucky he is, he thinks, to have some place worth missing so much not because it’s so impressive but simply because he loves it so much.

He forgets that luck far too often. He makes a promise to himself to try harder not to let it escape him so easily.

After the sun sets and they’re alone in the deep blue of dusk, Riley continues to play some music on her phone and pulls the two of them into dancing. The alcohol helps in loosening up the trio of them, and while Lucas is normally wary of consuming it so casually due to how simply it could take away his limited sense of control, with Riley and Isadora it’s not so scary. They’re splitting it all anyway, so he doubts it’s going to have much of an impact on him in the long run.

It does more than he anticipated, as Isadora opts not to indulge considering she drove all the way up there and they have to get back down the mountain somehow. So it’s just him and Riley sharing the champagne and allowing themselves to be sillier than they would ever be otherwise, Isadora watching them with fond amusement as she swats away Riley’s attempts to pull her into a dance.

There’s a strangely powerful allure to feeling so free. Lucas can understand why the substance coursing through his veins is so addictive.

When the night begins to slip into twilight and the sky is more black than blue, Isadora gears up to go get the car. She makes them promise not to hurt themselves by accidentally throwing themselves off the side of the cliffs before she goes, sending Riley into a fit of giggles despite the gruesome insinuation of what would happen at the end of that decision.

“Splat!” she says indicatively, slapping her hand on her knee and sending both of them into bowels of laughter.

Isadora rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she goes. “You two are too much. If I come back and you are both flattened on the rocks in dual suicide like Romeo and Juliet, no one can say I did not attempt to stop you.”

Lucas isn’t worried. Although the notion is weirdly funny in the haze of champagne, he and Riley are far too comfortable in their slouch against the rocks too warrant moving towards the edge. In fact, if he could have it his way, he figures he wouldn’t mind if he did die here. Just wasted away into the rocks and the earth and got to be a part of the scenery for the rest of eternity.

Riley watches over her shoulder as Isadora disappears, humming to herself. “What a buzzkill.”

“Better the buzz than us,” Lucas says. It made more sense in his head, but considering Riley nods along he supposes she gets what he means.

She whips her head back around to face him, her ponytail flipping wildly and almost hitting him in the face. She crinkles her nose at him, giving him a thoughtful look. “Lucas.”

“Riley.”

“Can I—,” she hesitates, as if the thought has fluttered away from her for half a second. Lucas wonders absentmindedly how much more intoxicated she must be than him. They shared the bottle and he’s about double her size. He doesn’t know how someone as petite as her can handle the same amount as him and not be totally plastered.

But maybe he’s a lightweight, or she’s tougher than she looks. Maybe both. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“You can tell me anything you want,” he assures her, earning a happy hum from her. She scoots closer and plops her head on his shoulder, exhaling a deep sigh and milking the moment of suspense before she states whatever she’s going to state.

She puts up a hand. “Actually, I’m going to tell you three secrets.” She holds up three fingers, hesitating on a fourth before deciding three is enough. She sits up straight again, looking him in the eyes with a sudden amount of seriousness. “But these are just between you and me. You have to swear not to share them, lest you break our bond of friendship forever.”

She’s truly the cutest person he’s ever met. “I promise.”

“Good.” She slouches back against the rocks again, only they’re close enough now that their shoulders are pressed together.

It’s not uncomfortable at all.

“The first is that I think, in some deep spiritual part of me, I could fall in love with you.” There’s a pause, Riley lifting her gaze to meet his. “In fact, I think maybe I am in love with you. In another world, another life, so deeply and fundamentally that it’s bleeding into this life.”

He gets the feeling he knows exactly what she’s talking about. It’s the same way he knows he’s probably a little bit in love with her, even if it’s not quite what he suspects true romantic love is supposed to feel like. If her drunken theory holds any water, maybe the other version of them is just hoarding all of it so much there’s not enough left for them here. With champagne making his brain fuzzy, it makes perfect sense.

“And the second secret is that if we were in that life, if that life were ours,” she hesitates, exhaling another sigh and glancing down at his lips. “I think this would be the moment where I’d kiss you.”

He can’t help the smirk that sneaks onto his face. Although this entire conversation exists in hypotheticals, Lucas has to hand it to her how naturally romantic she is. Whoever she chooses to actually use her bubbly charm on, they’re never going to make it out alive.

“I think I’d let you,” he admits, squinting and meeting her eyes again. She dips her head down bashfully, giving him a shy smile before looking away out of some sense of modesty. Like she too understands the strange power of their connection, how their friendship is so easy and intrinsic that it almost feels unreal.

For whatever reason, he finds himself thinking about his broody roommate. Wishing their dynamic could be so simple, so natural and inherent that it doesn’t require any heavy lifting.

What he wouldn’t give.

“But that’s where the third secret comes in,” she says with a sigh, tilting her head back against the rocks and looking up at the sky. He follows her gaze, getting lost in the multitude of stars burning into the night and feeling that ache for home again. “Because we live in this world.”

He feels her hand pat his, but there’s no deeper tension behind it. It’s friendly, platonic, comforting in the way a pat from a friend should feel. He doesn’t have a problem with that fact.

“And in this world, Lucas Friar,” she says, locking eyes with him again. “My heart belongs to someone else.”

He’s genuinely touched at the nervous gleam in her eyes, as if she worries this fact will change anything between them. As if potential romantic feelings were the only reason he wasted the time of day on her, rather than an important, invaluable friendship that he can’t imagine surviving the school year without.

He gives her his most reassuring smile, laying his hand on top of hers. “That’s okay.”

The smile that lights up her face is absolutely dazzling, maybe brighter than any of the stars in the sky above them. He can’t help but think whoever her heart belongs to, they have no idea how lucky they are.

“Who is it?” he asks curiously, already beginning to sort through all of the potential people in their lives. “Do I know them? Do they—?”

They’re interrupted by the shock of headlights streaming over them as Isadora’s car pulls up to the rocks behind them. Both of them squint in her direction as she steps out of the vehicle, gesturing for them to rise to their feet.

“Alright, simpletons. On your feet, let’s go. Class tomorrow.”

He sees it in the way Riley’s eyes widen slightly and the ghost of a smile passes over her lips the moment Isadora steps into the glow of the headlights. It matches the mood of the way Isadora averted her eyes at the gas station, and all the sudden Lucas recognizes the subtle undertone to their interactions that he had been struggling to decrypt earlier.

Riley’s heart belongs to Isadora Smackle. And if he’s not wrong, he’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual whether they’ve spoken about it or not.

More than anything else, what Lucas finds himself stuck on during the ride home isn’t the revelation of his friends’ feelings for one another but more the realization of how he doesn’t think he’s ever had it himself. He can’t remember a time his eyes lit up the way Riley’s did, or that he’s felt a sense of shyness the way Isadora does about her.

If he’s honest with himself, he finds himself envious that both of them can recognize it so clearly, that they’ve found it without even having to think about it. He’s pretty sure even if he had such a connection, if it was staring him in the face, he wouldn’t be smart enough to see it.

Although he knows it’s for the best considering he cannot afford the distraction if he wants to stay at Quincy—if he wants a shred of a chance of being able to afford four years—the realization leaves a dark spot on the otherwise outstanding birthday, the first he’s had in years.

Perhaps it’s the alcohol talking, but he can’t shake the feeling. That no matter how much he expands his world and attempts to better himself, he’s always going to end up unmistakably alone.

* * *

It’s about ten minutes of restlessly skating around campus before Farkle finds a place to collapse, barely getting off his board before he falls on his back in the grass of the lawn behind Feeny library. It’s tucked away in the far end of campus and hardly busy at night, at least not on the outside. Seems like the perfect place for him to melt into the ground and disappear forever considering how royally he’s fucked everything up.

It’s another five minutes before he gets his body to relax, taking a hit from another hastily rolled joint and allowing it to flush out the chill from his bones and loosen up the tightness so deeply embedded into his upper back he’s amazed he doesn’t simply crack apart with one point of contact.

He’s going to be alone. That’s all he can think as he stares up at the stars blinking above him, usually a source of comfort that suddenly feels hollow. If he keeps up the way he’s going he’s guaranteed to shove every single person out of his life until it’s him alone, full of pride but empty in every other capacity. He doesn’t think there’s enough marijuana in the world to use as a substitute.

It hits Farkle just how much he’s been operating as if he’s his father. Stuart Minkus has everything material he could possibly want, more pride and esteem than the ordinary man for certain. But he doesn’t have time for his own son, and for all intents and purposes he works alone.

Maybe it’s the esteem factor he definitely lacks, but Farkle doesn’t think he can survive with a life like that. Without Noah, he already feels weaker than before.

He decides he has to make a change. He has no idea how and the very thought of so fundamentally changing his way of life sends another round of ice through his veins, but he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive otherwise. If he wants to avoid the same fate as his father, he has to let the pride stay as rubble at his feet. He has to put some effort in and start building bridges with it instead.

Although it hurts to swallow, he knows exactly where he needs to start.

It’s a surprisingly short wait for him to start putting this change of heart into action. Lucas returns back to their dorm only a few minutes after he does, and it’s unclear whether or not he’s planning on staying.

Just from an offhand glance, Farkle can see that for whatever amazing birthday adventures his friends took him on something has soured his mood. There’s something about his expression that tells him so, even though he’s hardly gotten enough time to look at it the last month or so that would allow for such an easy read.

Lucas is just picking up his backpack and placing it on his bed when he decides he better speak up. Or else forever hold his peace.

“You don’t have to go,” Farkle says, hating the way his voice cracks. As if he’s uncertain when he’s trying incredibly hard to be confident about it.

Lucas hesitates, turning halfway around to give him a look. “What?”

“You don’t have to go away for the night,” he continues, choosing his words carefully but still not satisfied with how they come out. He’s not making any sense and he knows it. “I’m only saying that this is your dorm as well, and you have every right to sleep in your own bed. Despite how unwelcome I may or may not have made you feel in it.”

He can see Lucas attempting to process his words, squinting slightly. For a second Farkle wonders if maybe he’s a little bit drunk, but it’s too late to go back and delay this reconciliation further. It’s not even really a reconciliation, just an olive branch. The first brick he’s laying down in pursuit of building their bridge.

“I can acknowledge that I didn’t handle this situation the right way. Regardless of how I felt about you, or the situation, I didn’t have the right to make you feel uncomfortable in a place that’s supposed to be safe for the both of us.” He swallows, forcing himself to meet his eyes. “I apologize that I made you feel that way.”

Lucas still won’t say anything. He’s just looking at him, a little dumbstruck, and Farkle is quickly realizing how hard his eyes are to look away from. Have they always been green?

“What I’m saying is, you don’t have to go away every night.” He raises his hands in surrender. “If you want to stay in the room that belongs to you, you should stay.”

Another tense pause. Farkle realizes he’s holding his breath again.

“Okay,” Lucas finally says, not seemingly moved either way. He drops his backpack back on the floor, admittedly a little haphazardly. Farkle is now relatively positive he’s intoxicated in some capacity. “Thanks.”

Still, he feels like he’s able to exhale. He nods, allowing Lucas to go back to whatever he was doing and getting ready for bed on his own accord. That is, until another thought scratches at him from his subconscious. Telling him it would be the right thing to say, even if he never seems to know what the right thing is.

“Lucas?”

It takes a moment for him to acknowledge him, putting his focus into hopping onto his bed. When he settles he raises his eyebrows at him, waiting for him to continue.

Farkle licks his lips, then attempts what he hopes is a friendly smile. “Happy birthday.”

Lucas seems more surprised by this statement than the invitation to sleep in his own bed. He blinks, absorbing the sentiment for a long moment before he manages to respond.

“Thanks.”

Still stiff, but a little bit better than before. Farkle visualizes another brick being laid down at their feet, far from complete but well on its way to offering a channel for them to communicate.

In the ruins of his own destruction, he’s going to rebuild something much better.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all! This is indeed my first fic for Lucas and Farkle but I've really enjoyed their relationship and I'm very excited to embark on this journey with them (and you!!) So may the force be with you, and best of luck dealing with my penchant for slow burn. :)


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